


Coffee Shop

by SteinShipping61



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bisexual Male Character, Dimension Travel, M/M, Mad Scientists, Pansexual Character, Science Boyfriends, Science Fiction, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, pansexual rick, stanchez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteinShipping61/pseuds/SteinShipping61
Summary: Stanchez (Rick Sanchez x Stanley Pines)Rick runs away from a broken home to make a life for himself amongst the stars. Instead, he falls into the workplace of Stanley Pines, recently abandoned by his brother and disowned by his family.Together they can rule the world, or maybe just their own lives. It's a big enough goal for the men with no idea what they're doing.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Stanchez - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	1. Big D!ck Energy

All he can do is run. Why? It's his instinct. If you constantly heard the screams of a thousand voices a second and the roaring of engine fuel forever ringing in your own head, you'd run too. You'd scramble away as fast as possible and curl up at the bottom of a vodka bottle. That's all Rick can do. All anyone with such genius can really do. So tonight he says goodbye to his asshat parents and their alcoholism, and the twenty-two-year-old man climbs from his bedroom window without leaving a note, down the drainpipe into the dead of night, silently sliding the window closed behind him.

What's there left to do but run?

No. This isn't a teen drama runaway issue. He isn't too young and dumb to care, or having an identity crisis. Rick has been depressed for a long time, his mind reeling with thoughts too complex to explain to anyone. They think he's crazy as he rambles and is left bathing in the shinning judgement of others. He tried, he really did.

But it's too late now. He's already started running. He can't stop now so he may as well keep going.

He's a genius physics student, so he has no shortage of places to go. So where will he go? He doesn't want to burden the university for accommodation, with his self- proclaimed toxicity upending the lives of other, dumber students. He can always crash at Dianne's place. Maybe he'll do that, right after he transcends through dimensions to find an unexplored nightclub and drinks himself into oblivion. That's how much Dianne fucking likes him.

Oblivion does sound nice though. That's his real escape. Oblivion.

He finds what he's looking for in bottles of gin but most liquor stores close after 10 pm and he doesn't want to go to an off-licence, where everyone looks off-putting and has heads too big for their bodies. He finds a 24-Hour coffee shop, almost abandoned at the edge of a town, and decides it'll do.

No matter how fast or far he runs from his mundane life, he can never escape himself. From the moment he closes that window behind him to the moment he passes the threshold into the ultra-modern-esque establishment, all he can think of is what a piece of shit he is. A huge fuckin' steaming pile of glip-glop turds. You have to embrace these kinds of epiphanies.

*

Stanley Pines groans as the rag smears across the counter. Watching the seconds tick by on the clock is torture as he waits for his shift to finish. Having been kicked out his house last week and his brother wanting nothing to do with him he wastes away his days working as a barista, a humiliating position for the man who's ambition is to be a millionaire entrepreneur.

At least he gets free Frappuccinos - as many as he wants.

Stan barely looks up when a guy walks in. The guy leans against the counter, idly lighting a cigarette and taking long, slow drags, lips wrapped tightly around the stick, compensating for some lack of security. Almost seductive.

Stan discreetly looks at the man and at first, he doesn't seem like much. Skinny, about 20 like himself. Latino ethnicity, with dark hair and olive green eyes. Clearly drunk off his ass. Traces of cocaine and amphetamines cling around his nostrils. The man starts to scan the menu, eyes squinting at the 'Coffee and Other' board. Something about him is captivating. And with another quick check, Stan realises what it is! The man is wearing a Backupsmore Hoodie! That means he attended university with Ford! Does he know him?! Not like it matters, Ford hates me.

"H-Hey asshole, I'm t-t-talking to yyyyou! Helloooooo!"

Stanley blinks, escaping the soundproof chasm of his thoughts. The guy has clearly been speaking to him, with a stutter and speech impediment it seems. Slurring is expected when drunk but stuttering this intensely indicates something underlying - there was a kid at his school with a similar impediment. "What?" Stan asks, formally as he can. The guy is Hispanic so Stan doesn't know how much slang he'll know.

"I asked wwwwhy the f-fuck you're dressed-dressed like you're in a d-damn barbershop cortet?! Who the fuck wears a-a-a-a apron asshat?!" The guy drawls, scoffing as he laughs at Stan's uniform. Admittedly he hates it too but it's all he has anyway. He hadn't exactly planned on having his already pathetic and doomed-to-failure life shattered into thousands of pieces that week by his vengeful brother.

The guy's eyes remain unfocused, and he sways lightly on his feet. "H-Heyyyy I k- I mean I feel like I k-k-know you," his eyes widen in shock. "Fuckin' Ford?!"

Stan isn't sure if he's impressed, terrified or uncomfortable. Really he's all three but feels like it'd help the situation along if he picks one and sticks with that option. "I'm Stanley, Stan for short. Ford is my brother," he growls a little, glaring at the floor. His fists ball in rage and he forgets himself and all his customer service training. "Now get out if you aren't going to buy anything!"

"Relax, m-man- eh, man. I-I'll take a wh-white hot cho-chocolate with marsss'allows," he slams $5 on the counter.

"Name?"

"Rrrrrick,"

"Sure, take a seat," he gestures begrudgingly to the empty tables but Rick takes a seat at the bar instead. Stan considers the man in front of him. So he knows Ford but they definitely aren't friends - Ford would have mentioned his twin, the twin he can't stop disparaging. Besides, Rick looks like everything Ford hates. This lost, broken man reeks of desperation and loneliness. Self-loathing hatred and a desire to punish himself. That's probably why he's having a white hot chocolate at 5 am on the graveyard shift of the Starbucks.

"So, What brings you here?"

Stan hands him the steaming up. He shakes cinnamon on the top but doesn't stir it in, sipping it so the powder sticks to his upper lip. "Wait, wh-wha'...?" On the cup is written 'Ricc'. "It's spelt Rick a-asshole. R-I-C-K,"

"What did I write?" Stan asks.

"R-I-C-C, like thicc," he chuckles at an amusing thought. "Which is what yooou are,"

"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, but it did seem to be a compliment. "So I spelled your name wrong, my bad,"

"Yeah, it-it is, Lee,"

Stan narrows his eyes in an annoyed frown. "Stan," he corrects.

"Aw, Sorry, Lee,"

"Stan!" He corrects again, more annoyed. He punched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily in his stress.

"So how come you're here?" Rick chuckles. "I'll answer if you do,"

"I... was kicked out," Stan admits reluctantly, shame building up inside him with every word.

Rick's eyes light up in something resembling excitement. It would be that exactly, if he weren't so anhedonic and apathetic. His mind roams to all the possibilities. He sticks out his hand. "Cool - I ran away personally. This is such a co-inky-dink, r-right? I w-w-went to college w-with your twin!"

"So your family sucks too?" Stan finishes wiping down the counter, starting to stack the replacement cups in preparation for the morning rush.

"Yeah, b-but it's whatever," he shrugs it off, repressing the vulnerability deep inside. Feeling an explosion of feelings so overwhelming - he'd cry if he was anyone else. "So - Ford's twin, wh-wh-what's he doing nowadays?"

Good question. No Stan thinks. Actually, it's a pretty shitty fuckin' question.

But it makes him think. Right now, in this moment, what is his brother doing without him? What adventures is he having now that his entire life has been ruined by his twin? Stan wants to stop feeling so guilty. He wants the screaming to stop. He wants to stop having to be responsible for everyone and everything, including himself! He wants to get the painful image of his brother's vitriol out his head. "Whatever he's doing, he's doing it without me"

Rick grins broadly, liking this guy a lot better than his brother. Stuck up prick, Ford was. "C-Can I be honest with you?" Rick holds up his hands in defence. "And no like - no offence, r-right? But your brother was= was an asshole,"

Ford never let himself open up to other people, always had to be the smartest person in the room. Yet he never was, cause Rock always was. And that infuriated him way more than it should've. Rick doesn't need to prove himself, Ford did more than anyone. That's really sad, damn. He thinks.

Rick's scrutinising gaze considers Stan closely, trying to find any flaw in him, any excuse to walk out that door and never come back. But he can't because not only is Stan the more likeable twin, but he's hotter too. And that's saying a lot. Ford would have been a fuckin' Adonis if he had any personality beyond a half-eaten cardboard box. Stan is that Adonis plus 5 charisma points - but minus 1 for the mullet.

Rick doesn't like to be presumptuous, but his gaydar...

"Wh- When do you get off?"

Stan freezes for a second, previously oblivious to Rick's pheromonal advances. He honestly had no idea, if there were any hint he missed them. Though Rick is reaching over the table slightly far, hand outstretched with ling, thin fingers drumming a slow rhythm. He realises that Rick is entirely his type.

With men anyway. With women, he likes those who look more like him. Short, stocky, assertive. Basically a female Stanley. But with men it's the complete opposite. And Rick is just too alluring. Too much potential for a relationship to pass up. They understand each other deeply enough from a single interaction that a missed opportunity could shatter the potential of a lifetime love.

He checks the clock, just after 5. "An hour," Stan smiles, reaching over and gently squeezing Rick's hand. He starts to replace the stacks of Christmas-themed takeout cups for the 0600 rush.

Rick hangs around the rest of the time, he gives him a free black coffee out his own pocket, which they share. Sipping from either side in between shooting the shit in a too-forward way.

"A- And my speech thing, people think I'm like - like stupid. But I'm n-not! I'm the smartest man alive!" he pauses. "Just... like - I'm just autistic!"

"Is that why you shout everything you speak?" Stan chuckles.

"Maybe? I don' know,. I got dia-diagnosed and it was like 'whelp, let's get a-as much money outta this as we possibly can'. Damn my parent s-sucked,"

"Sucked past tense?"

"I d-don' plan on seein' 'em ever a-again," he shrugs, taking another sip from the coffee.

Stan's face visibly pales. The epiphany that he likely won't see his family again. Dead to them, probably already in their past tense. They should be in his, and that's a terrifying notion. Even Ford, the grief of a relationship he was so dependant on. But that's just it, it was dependence. Never love, at least not for a long time.

"I'm here to relieve you," grins the girl arriving for her 0600 shift, dyed frosty blue hair tied back in a ponytail. Her lazy eye throws Rick off for a second. 

"Thanks so much," Stan almost leaps over the counter to hug her, an electric tension making Rick suspicious.

They hug, she looks back at Rick. "Oh, who's this?" confused, she asks Stan. She thought they were hitting it off and now there's someone here with possessive energy over the man she was going to ask out this very morning.

"Rick," Stan smiles, gesturing for him to come over. Rick leaves his cup on the table, she can clean it up for all he cares. Stan leans into her and whispers giddily. "He's coming home with me!"

"Oh... great," giving Rick an unenthusiastic half-smile, she watches them stroll out the door and wander in a seemingly random direction.

Rick clenches his stomach, cursing his idea to wear a crop top at night during November, when the wind batters ice crystals onto his stomach and bare arms. Though his shoulders get a blast of warmth when a thick, heavy jacket with fleeced insides is placed over his shoulders.

Stan smiles up at him, not dressed only in a red shirt. "I have more insulation than you,"

Rick stares at him for a second before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, face falling into cupped hands. "Holy- Holy fuck!" he still can't stop laughing, unaware that Stan is leading him down an alleyway until they're in the centre, compressed between two walls. the distance between them and the street a stretching desert at either end.

"Wh-What's goin' on man?" he looks around. "You- you live around here?"

"Kinda," Stan admits, blushing in slight shame. Perhaps this will be like most times he tries to bring someone 'home' with him. He pulls out a key and clicks the button, illuminating the alley with powerful white headlights.

"You - live in your car huh?"

Stan's confidence drains instantaneously before Rick smiles brightly.

"Awesome!" he runs over, running his hands over the red paint. He isn't a car guy by any means, in fact he kinda hates car guys. But guys who are free and self-actualised enough to take someone home to their car that they live in? The biggest dick energy possible.

Stab follows him into the car, ready for a night of animated conversation. And if that's all there is, it's still been worth it.


	2. Dreams are Worth Chasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I reject canon and give this a happy ending or give it a sad ending to respect canon?

Stan Pines isn't sure what entices him about Rick. His intelligence, certainly. How nerdy he is, just like Ford. But really, there's something about Rick that Stan could never have with Ford. Stan's a piece of shit, and pieces of shit tend to drag others down with them. They need to cause fear and pain and they need to control their victims. Ford would never have allowed this; much too strong a person. But Rick seems naturally passive, even without the desperation and insane obsession to cling to anything worth clinging to. Stan has the feeling he's going to be a very needy person indeed.

Why Rick though? Why not a girl, or a fitter, more healthy person both in mind and body? Well, it's time the barista tries something new. Loving someone, truly loving someone's brilliant mind, soul, spirit, with blind devotion instead of pushing them away as he has with everyone else - there's something so beautiful in that.

"How much have you had to drink?" Stan asks - caring too much about the person he met only last night. Rick stares at the floor, blinking in deeply concentrated thought. After difficult calculations the scientist has his answer.

"A lot,"

Stan sighs, pushing strands of curly brown hair behind his large ears. He can't take his eyes off Rick's exposed body, whoever designed the scientist was an artist with impeccable taste. Abd though Rick feels the same way about him, neither could ever feel that about themselves. "Come on," he takes Rick's hand. "I gotta get to work,"

Rick's hand trembles, the exhilarating touch pulling him through dimensions, a winding tunnel stretching through time. Rick thinks to himself, in bewilderment _this is what other people experience when they're touched! _

Stan has no home - therefore no dimension. He is everywhere and everything. Can bend the fragmented composition of space and time to his own will. So where does he go? Well, he sucks it up and dresses in a barista uniform stuffed in his back seat. Work is where he goes, because it's the only world he knows - even if he'd much prefer to be a con man - for now it's where he's stuck.

Rick tugs on a pair of jeans. He gets out the car, stumbling over to the side and hitting the grass in his drunken stupor.

"Hey Rick, you don't have a job do ya" asks Stan from the driver's seat, watching deadpan. Rick can take care of himself, clearly no stranger to this exact situation.

"Nah - b-but I can make money," he promises. "Just-Just gotta find a g-g-guitar..."

Believe it or not, Rick is methodical in his chaos. He didn't run away with no plan at all, even if it was split-second. The idea came to him yesterday, seeing Stan's abode for the first time: Trans-dimensional travel. Dimension-hopping through the multiverse in a vehicle of his own design. But science ain't cheap - he'll need money for parts. He can busk for it, he knew learning how to play would come in handy someday. _Screw you, Dad, _he thinks. _Dreams are worth chasing. _

"If you wan' I can recommend you to the manager,"

"Starbucks? It's a d-damn shithole," Rick croaks, coughing up some regurgitated alcohol; vodka stained light green with stomach acid. "Are yyyyou kidding?! I a-ain't working there!"

"Hmm," Stan tuts disapprovingly. "Well you gotta do something!"

"I t-told ya I'd handle it. I'm- I'm a fuckin' genius Lee, remember?"

If Stan's learned anything from his father, it's that ideas ain't worth shit. What matters is what you can do now that's practical.

Rick rolls his eyes at is partner's pessimism. How could he find the one human in the multiverse who's even up even more than him? And someone with so much untapped potential for imagination. Stan could do anything he wanted, if only he could access it.

Curiosity over Stan has pulled him from the pit if inebriation and into sober clarity. Stan observes Rick mentally digest everything. Rick is so cute with his winsome charm. The way he moves, acts, with this childish innocence. "Why-Why'd you come h-here anyway?" He inquires, peering around the dull alleyway like bumbling village idiot rather than a genius. "Y-You could go any-anywhere in the damn world in your car! Explore!"

"This is..." Stan trails off, staring woefully in the general direction of the motorway out this crappy place. "This is the city I heard Ford was staying in now. I was hoping if I got a job somewhere popular, like the coffee shop, he'd eventually turn up,"

"I-Interesting," Rick chuckles, hanging his leather jacket over one shoulder, walking purposefully with swinging hips.

"But all I could get was the graveyard shift so... "_ That's another dream flushed down the toilet. _

Rick greatly enjoys how exceedingly difficult to read Stan is.

"What's interesting?"

"That you'd make all-all... this effort to c-come here..." Rick winks. "Se-Se-Sentimental much?"

Stan doesn't know if Rick _knows something about Ford _or what, maybe more than he lets on. But his eyes narrow, alighting a furious fire at such blatant mockery. He fucking hates being humiliated at the hands of smart people, those ho always take advantage of him. Treat him like a fool. Without thinking, he draws back his hand and swipes it through the air. Not really intending to hit Rick' expecting him to duck. Only there's no time, and the weighted force slams Rick into the door of an abandoned hotel, shattering the splintered wood.

Rick groans in pain, shoulders and back aching dully as he lies against the unforgiving wood. His elbows were the first thing to feel pain, scraped with blood through his lab coat. In an instant - not to exaggerate, Rick rips away from the door and advances on the shorter man. He towers above Stan, regarding him with his ominous black voids and spooky presence that's shockingly perturbing. Makes Stan feel like he's being choked. But strangely in a good way.

"L-Look, think-think what you want about me, b-but I'll be at Starbucks after midnight. If- I'd you want me to stay, I'll stay..."

"I really do what you to," Stan admits, chasing the thrill of this position with Rick.

He walks off without giving Rick a chance to respond, feeling a need to withdraw. 

*

Skirting around the flea market, Rick's eyes wandering in desire towards slabs of vintage tech. Merchants entice him towards the tech with embellishments and promises. He'd fall for them easily, drifting towards stalls of wires and motherboards - so much untapped potential with which he can tinker with and hopefully create something brilliant! Except he came here for a reason, and he only has five bucks. 

He cowers away from stalls loaded with wicker furniture - an unavoidable distress at these kinds of places. He loves flea markets, but wicker furniture creeps him out. There shouldn't be this manty shitty chairs in the universe! Let alone one marketplace. 

Rick spots, under a pile of miscellaneous junk, a beat-up acoustic with its neck scraped up and chewed by termites. The black matte allows scrapes and gnaws to shine through evidently. 

"H-Hey, uh... how much is that guitar?" 

"Seven bucks, man," smiles the merchant, lifting it with a careless clatter. 

"U- Um, you... could- could do f-four?" _Then I could buy food at the dollar store. _

The merchant sighs, looking over Rick. A tattered suitcase dragging in his thin hand, wrinkled clothes entirely lived or slept in. The man looks like he slept on the floor. Nervous eyes, shifting feet, curled up in on himself with intense insecurities. Besides, the guitar wasn't anything special when it was new. An ordinary Eastwood. 

"I can do five, man," he tells the self-conscious scientist. A sympathetic glimmer in his eyes that fills Rick with bitterness, he hates people feeling sorry for him. Too independent to need help. 

Rick thanks him through gritted teeth, hard eyes of condemnation regarding the man in all his kindness with the hatred of a kindled fire. 

He walks around the city for a while, finding a crescent in the bustling centre opposite a sleek-looking mall in the most dense office district. He sits on his suitcase. A deep breath to ready himself. Rick begins to tune his guitar quietly by ear - and it really needs tuning. Different gage strings an infuriating pet peeve of his. He takes off his jumper, now wearing just a black tank top with his jewellery revealed, and folds it into a square. 

An internal desperate cry to anyone who's listening for this to work, he begins to strum with vigour. Hard, fast, determined. The choruses of rock and metal songs passionately presented in a demonstration of refined talent. 

The small crowd that gathers showers him in applause and praise in the form of small change. Sometimes a generous fan of the artists he's covering places shining silver dollars on his folded jumper. The blue gradually disappearing under collections of coins. He smiles - this is who he is. Fuck Stan and his judgement. He'll show him! 

* 

Susan watches Stan fuck up the combination of a drink for the third time today. She can tell when he's preoccupied, and it's usually to do with Ford. This is different though, a kind of frustration rather than bubbling with guilt. Not an issue with Ford. It makes sense that the man from last night would be the cause of his misery, his devious smirk and deceptive eyes of arrogance. 

"Hey, you doin' okay?" she asks him, batting her eyes under green shadow. She leans over the counter to take his hand in hers. "It was that guy from yesterday, huh? Rick,"

"It was my fault for thinkin' he'd be perfect," 

"Hey, it was one night, right?" she grins happily. "There are plenty more fish in the sea!" 

_That's a little presumptive,_ Stan thinks. He hasn't even told her what happened, or the fact he's probably gonna have to dal with Rick again later tonight. When he comes back for an answer. An answer Stan doesn't even have. Does he want a relationship with Rick? It'd be easily to just walk away. But still. Last night was the happiest he's felt in a long time. His worries melt away, even the guilt. Rick has given him clarity over his own life, over Ford. It'd be insanity to throw that away. 

"I don't know if I wanna Rick again or not," Stan admits. "I can't tell you how... strange I felt with him. Like everything was right again. I was that ambitious kid again ready to drop everything and plan a life of adventure with him! For the first time in forever... I didn't think about Ford," 

Susan frowns, the reality of what's happening dawning on her. "I know he makes you feel good... I get it. I'm just worried he'll take advantage of you. I don't trust him - and you aren't exactly... I mean, you're kind of gullible," 

"Gullible?" he chuckles, smiling sheepishly and sharing down at her pastel pink shoes, freshly cleaned. "I guess you're right. I don't trust Rick yet either - why would I? I've known him one day. But I ain't been feeling great. I need a friend right now," 

A friend? Susan smiles. "Okay, how 'bout this hun?" she offers in her natural Southern drawl. "I'll be a friend. I'll listen to ya, and if I think anythin' shady is going down, I'll tell ya. But otherwise, I'll keep my opinions about Rick to myself," 

"That sounds..." he shakes his head. "Yeah, sure. Thank you," 

His shift ends soon, though he doesn't think he can face Rick yet. Still hasn't made up his mind, certainly isn't confident enough. 

"Hey, wanna go into town tonight? I ain't had a chance to explore the city since I moved here," 

_Moved. _Can it really be called moving?

"I'd love to, hun!" Susan agrees brightly, skipping off with sudden jubilance that makes him smile too. His best friend, here at least. Someone who seems to love him unconditionally. Who truly cares abut him. Something he can barely believe is true when everything has been conditional until now. 

Their shift ends and they take to the streets of the city. Depravity of the daytime concealed under shadows of darkness into a velvet black, vanishing behind blinking neon lights that burn the corneas. 

They link arms, appearing as the perfect couple. "Bet we can fool some straight-edgers into givin' us free drinks, You ever heard of the anniversary bit?" 

"Ya know what? I know the perfect bar for that!" Susan decides aloud. "This way," 

She leads him passed the mall, long closed but continuing to waste electricity with its glowing logo. Simple, contemporary, central. The biggest light on the entire street, illuminating the ground below in a stream of white. 

And highlighting the stark shadows of a busker sitting there. On his suitcase, playing his guitar and singing his heart out. Love in his voice, passion unabated by heavy circumstance. Normally, when Stan hears buskers, their voices have a distinct emptiness, Only going through the motions, emotionless or laced in fake vibrance. Mirroring the origjnal speaker, or sheepish about how their own orignal music will be recevied. 

This voice is confident, smooth, happy, Effervescence he admires in the face of adversity. But not optimism. The creaky voice of someone broken down but too determined to stay down. 

"Wanna go see him?" Susan sees his wandering gaze. 

"Yeah, sure!" 

Stan's toothy grin envelopes his entire face. Walking up to the busker, he pushes through the crowd and sitting on his suitcase, surrounded by change piled higher than his ankles, is Rick. Anxiety buried under the music, lost in the clarity of his voice. Though now, Stan realises his speech impediment is still present as he sings, but overshadowed by the talent itself. Both musical and acoustically. 

Rick notices him too, his own confidence swells with the support of someone he cares about. Very suddenly, he realises he cares about Stan - when he didn't think he cared about anyone at all. 

They catch eyes, catch smiles. Rick's playing slows, the volume tapers off. A collective disappointed pout of the crowd. 

"S-Sorry everyone!" he calls over them. "Th- That was my last song," 

A final waterfall of cash falls upon him and he grabs it in handfuls, filling every pocket in his suitcase, his jeans, fists of cash. Walking up to Stan, he smugly holds it up like the prize of righteousness. 

"R-Ready to ad-admit that dreams are worth chasing?" the slightest hint of sadism in his eyes. If Stan agrees, great. If he doesn't, Rick will still be right. Either way, it's a win-win. 

"For you, even the stars are worth chasing," Stan grins, dragging Rick towards him by the hips. "I can't tell you how impressed I am. How wrong I was," 

His eyes flash to Susan for a second. "We're out for the night, but..." hands explore his pockets, revealing his keys which he places in Rick's open hand. "I'd love to see you when I get back," 

Rick grips the keys so tight they stab through his skin, clenching them close to his chest. Reverence to their symbolism. "Y-Yeah, Stan," he agrees, feigning casual dismissal. He hands Stan a handful of cash. "For l-letting me stay..." 


	3. Phone Call

It's been a week since Stan took an extra shift at the coffee shop. Even with the addition of Rick's bizarrely high income as a street performer, a studio apartment is impossible to afford. Rather than a 5 hour shift, he now has a 12. His days are only brightened by Rick, who shows up at the beginning of the morning rush every day to order only one coffee. 

Always sitting at the bar area with his free refills, Rick charges his phone for the next several hours while idly watching Stan work. It's mesmerising to observe. Skillful, quick hands moving expertly to create beautifully crafted drinks. Stan is so much smarter than he gives himself credit for, with so much unlocked potential repressed as he curses himself as feckless.

"Hey hun," Stan slides over to him under the pretense of wiping down the already shiny counter. "I know you just love watching me walk, but you've been here for 3 hours on free refills. Either buy another coffee or you have to get out,"

Rick frowns at his partner's angry expression. "No-nobody said there was a limit so... I-I can contest that, see...?"

"Yeah there ain't a limit, but it's rush hour when everyone wants to use this as their office," he affirms his point by surveying all the smartly-dressed individuals working away furiously on their laptops. He explains it to Rick as he used to with Ford during one of his weird Asperger's moments. "We're busy and need tables for paying customers-"

Rick lifts a finger to interject, Stan cuts him off with a low, aggressive growl.

"I know you paid, but you paid for one-fucking-thing ages ago and more people are here who you're inconveniencing!"

"Wh-Where am I supposed to go?" Rick challenges.

"Not my fucking problem! Go perform for the rich types!" He throws his hand towards the door, his scene gaining attention from customers.

Rick shakes his head. "Nah, Lee- you-you ain't thinking ahead. Nobody got change this early in the morning, they haven't had a- had a chance to spend their notes yet. Plus, you said it yourself. Business types who can't stop to listen to some street performer, too busy runnin' to meetings or... whatever," he shrugs, taking the final drinks of coffee, slowly. Watching it disappear from the cup at a steady rate, checking to ensure Stan is sufficiently annoyed.

He shakes his cup. "Free- Free refill, please!"

Stan takes his ceramic mug and dumps it in the sink with a clatter, one that makes Rick jolt in shock at the unexpected noise. Stan's face glows red with anger, gradually increasing in temperature like a pressure cooker rising and rising and ready to blow. He walks right up to Rick, standing over him with clenched fist and a face contorted in so much fury, Rick wouldn't be surprised if steam blows out his ears.

"You need to buy another coffee or move along!" he spits through gritted teeth. Growing quietly to Rick under his breath. Strangely calculating.

"F-Fuck you!" frustration builds inside Rick. How dare Stan ignore him in favour of something so trivial as giving one customer a seat when the place will be overflowing no matter what he does! But then that's a logical fallacy... fuck, he knows better than to fool himself with that. Stan is right, even though he can't bring himself to admit that. "Y-Yeah, okay. I'll go,"

He leaves without looking his partner in the eye, ashamed of himself for that display of weakness.

*

Lying in Stan's car, legs sticking out the window, Rick berates himself harshly. He's unable to escape the prison of his own emotions, his genetic defect of feelings. It isn't his fault, and yet it is. Because his role in life is to escape that prison, burn it down to the ground so he is no longer constricted by its oppressive existence. The ultimate freedom for Rick would to become a machine. His humanity is nothing but a barrier to transcending the toxicity of emotion.

The emotion Rick abandons with most profane is his pride. Pride, that makes him act like such a shitty person. The kind of person he hates, yet can't help but embody. Or perhaps he hates it because he embodies it, the circular logic of self-hate running circles around his mind. He can debate and theorise and create all day when it comes to physics, but when deliberating his own mind and others' his thoughts simply muddle into one big knot at the forefront of his cerebrum, becoming a migraine more intense than a glioblastoma.

He's always considered his humanity to be a problem to be solved. If he could only solve the problem of emotions, he wouldn't be such a terrible partner. He could give Stan everything, come up with the most advanced solutions for any issue based on rationality alone.

It's time he solved that problem.

But a problem so integral to humanity requires an extreme solution, one outside the realm of human abilities. To heavily summarise Rick's conclusion, he requires intervention from other planets. World more advanced than his own, lightyears away and millennia ahead of Earth's timeline.

Time travel is a conman's game. Time intervention? The most revered process for the physicist, given how honestly difficult it is to pull off. Even for someone like Rick, messing with time is extreme in itself. And that itself requires alien assistance!

"Ugh, th-this is gonna be a long day," he decides, wrenching himself up from the seat.

To start travelling inter-dimensionally, he needs to travel inter-planetarily. And do trvak inter-planetarily, he needs parts. And to get parts, he needs money. Grabbing his guitar from the backseat, Rick readies himself for the longest performance concert of his life. However long it takes.

No matter what, he'll fix this problem.

*

Stan returns to the car after his shift in an exhausted stupor. All he wants is to fall into Rick's arms and apologise. While he was right, he shouldn't have been so curt. And he really didn't like kicking Rick out, especially since at other times, he lets Rick sit there for way longer than 3 hours. Rick really shouldn't have expected to be kicked out, he should have explained it rather than getting mad.

But still, Stan sure isn't apologising. Screw that. And yet, he wishes he could just speak calmly with someone instead of being an ass and becoming enraged at something so trivial.

But Rick isn't in the car. He's gone, along with his jacket and of course his guitar. Stan sighs, of course he isn't here. Who would stick around after seeing Stan's ugly side? Nobody. that's who. Not his parents. Not Ford. Not Rick.

"Damn it," he kicks the side of his car, crushing a dent through the side of the beaten-down vehicle. The shadows surrounding the dent further fuel his anger. He starts screaming, kicking the car with the heel of his heavy boot, digging into and grinding the metal. He imagines the car as his own head, his own heart, his own insecure, angry bullshit thoughts.

The shrill scream of a whistle shocks his body with its piercing force. Halfway ready to bash his foot into the metal again, his leg is paralysed by the weight of the sound. He turns, finding Rick standing there wearing a mischievous grin.

"Y-Yo, who ticked you off today? Was it th-that asshole manager of yours huh?" he chuckles. "I told ya not to listen to him!" 

"You're back late," Stan sits on the good of his car which creaks under his weight. Rick flips down beside him, pushing up to sit on the windscreen itself. He does so with ease. Stan growls and mutters under his breath. "Didn't expect you to show up at all after the way I treated ya," 

They sit in silence for a long time. Both too prideful to be the first to apologise. Eventually Rick decides it isn't worth it, leaning down to lie beside the other.

"H-Hey Lee... you awake?"

Nothing. Asleep. Rick hates feeling so alone as he does now. He has idea to share and nobody to share them with!

He pulls from his pocket a crinkled ball of bills. Ranging from singles to fifties. Counting it, he comes up with $1,499. He could fuck off and get a hotel for the night, he gone by tomorrow. He has enough money to move along to the next place. Except....

He stares down at Stanley. The annoying weight anchoring him to this town. To this relationship.

"Dammit," he stuffs the bills back into his pocket. It's better to follow his original plan and with hat conclusion, begins drawing up blueprints for something magnificent to share with Stan when he wakes up. The salvation to their future reduced to some lines of simple maths (simple for Rick anyways) and cheap mechanical parts. 

A light from the car distracts him, and he jumps off the windshield, around to the side of the car. Stan's phone is buzzing and he can't help read the contact name.

_Adventure Buddy (Blocked)._

Conflict tears him in two for a brief flutter of a section before he decides fuck it, and quickly answers.

"He- Hello...?"

The voice on the other end is heavily corrupted by radio static.

"_Stan... (crack) I don't know if you got this... I hope you did (crack) I'm in real trouble, I need you. Come to..."_

Click. He hands up the phone.

"G-Gra-Gravity Falls, huh?"


	4. Adventure Buddy

Rick stands in the candle lit room above the doorway, normally pale cheeks flushed as he recites in his mind over and over again, affirming his thoughts: _I'm doing this for Stanley_. Descending the staircase, he arrives at an underground chamber. Dark rock surrounds a barren clearing with cracked rocks stretching up to an iron structure. Rick cannot identify it, but is immediately admired and fascinated by it.

"F-Ford...?"

The man before him turns to face him, wide shoulders imposing authority. Rick was always intimidated by Stanford Pines. He was so fucking hot in college. Now, his eyes barely widen in surprise. The man is too tired to react. 

"Rick? Rick Sanchez?! What are you doing here?! I left a message with my brother..."

"I-It's a small world, I guess..." Rick shrugs. "Ya got... ya got n-new glasses..."

His old ones were rimless. He now wears a bulky tweed coat befitting a much older man. Much more established: a professor.

"You know my brother?" Ford's cheeks flush in embarrassment this time. "Why are you here?"

Rick walks up to him, before falling to his knees. Ford looks down at him in mortified surprise.

"I need- I need... y-your help..."

"But... I'm the one who needs Stan's help,"

Rick looks up into that genuine, desperate face. "Wh- Whaddaya need help with?"

Ford shows him the blueprints for the portal, laid out in CAD created schematics and measurements. The foundations for interdimensional travel re etched beneath Rick's fingertips. Fuck travelling to other planets, this is exactly what he's been waiting for! Yet his old rival is the one to have created it...

"It's this portal, see? Theoretically, it should work! But it requires such a high burst of energy, I don't know where we can source it from," Ford laments.

Rick balls his hands into fists, the paper crinkling beneath them. "I-I think I have an- an idea,"

The anomaly of High-Energy Physics is studied through phenomenology. Rick happens to have a knack for neutrino energy specifically, and harnesses the Z9 anomaly that only cancels if the number of generations is amultiple of 3. If Rick were to calculate an energy field based off the assumption that the existence of certain anomaly-free Z4symmetry, he can utilise the hypothesis of 16 fermions per generation of theStandard Model - including right-handed neutrinos - to anomalies undertime-reversal of boundary states in four-dimensional topologicalsuperconductors. However, this would all be based upon the confirmation of the (non-)existence of K-theoretic θ angles infour dimensions.

"It's a long, shot, but..." Ford analyses Rick's idea. "It could work,"

"O- Or it could turn this entire room into the hatching chamber of a neutrino bomb,|"

Ford stares at Rick with the hunger of determination that Rick never knew he was capable of as the Lawful Good of Backupsmore. Ford salivates over the secrets of the multiverse soon to be discovered, his spark of love for science returned. "I'll risk it if you will,"

He extends a hand, desperately grasping hold of Rick's.

"Wh-What have I got ta lose?" Rick grins, and squeezes his hand around Ford's grip.

*

Stanley wakes up, groggily looking around his car. "Rick...?"

The scientist still hasn't returned. For a second, he worries Rick finally left. The inevitable disappearance of the man who cannot be tied down. Except all his stuff is still here, and the money hasn't been stolen.

Stan notices his phone sitting on the passenger seat. He sits up and checks it, finding a barrage of missed calls from Ford. "One of them contend a voicemail, which he isn't sure if he should play. Deliberating it for less than a second, the impulsive man clicks the button with a vengeance.

It plays for 30 seconds, then ends.

"Gravity Falls?" he furrows his brows, confused. Staring at the screen as if it'll give him the answer to his question.

"Where the fuck is Gravity Falls?"

*

Rick gulps and steps back form the machine, allowing Ford to take position by the lever. The fire still burns brightly in his eyes. "You sure you wouldn't want to activate it?" asks Ford.

"'S y-your machine," Rick shrugs.

Ford pulls the lever, and for a second, the room fills with terrifying silence: it didn't work.

Until a swirling nebula appears, thinner than a sheet of glass, between the arms of the portal. Dark blue plug matter bursts into existence, the energy field crackling and popping with blue embers. "It's working, it's... it's working!" Ford almost cackles like a madman.

"N-Now interdimensional travel is at our fingertips. T- Too bad we can-can't go together," Rick's voice practically purrs out the words with an apathetic shrug that betrayal his smooth, smug tone.

Ford looks down, guilt panging at his heart. He misjudged Rick it seems, the man is willing to help. He's a bitch to work with, but not if you have a common, passionate goal with him. Could it have ever worked between them, even a lab partnership? The candlelight casts a warm glow on the rocky floor.

"You can use it too, if you like,"

"Can- Can two people use it at the same time?" Rick's eyes shine expectantly in the candlelight, offset by the stark blue shadows behind him. Blue is Rick's colour.

"We'd need to run more tests, but I can't think why not," Ford holds his chin in thought.

"I-I can use it alone, r-right? Cause I work alone!"

"You can, yes," Ford agrees with a sigh. Even if he wanted to make it work with Rick, it never could. "What- How exactly do you know my brother?"

"Lee? Oh, we're~"

"Ford! Ford, you down here!"

The voice from the staircase, surprisingly soft. Rick smirks, thoroughly enjoying the expectation of Stan's arrival. "Th-Thought you'd be here! Wh-What took ya so long?" Rick goads his lover. He knew Stan couldn't resist coming to check on his brother after receiving a voicemail. Maybe Rick will get the sappy reunion he dreamed of! Then Stan can stop being such a constant downer. Because he cannot be doing this for selfless purposes, that's absurd.

"Rick? What're you doing here?" Stanley asks, looking him up and down weirdly.

"Y-Your brother needed help on his new project, and you were gone, so..." Rick steps back, ready to let the brothers talk. The entertainment value is just too high to miss out.

Stan and Ford stand opposite one another, identical yet strangers.

Eventually, Stan pipes up. "So, you were really gonna call me for help?"

"Yes," Ford admits begrudgingly, through a tight lipped frown and clenched jaw.

"Even though I ain't, ya know, a nerd like you and Rick?"

"You're my brother. My - my Adventure Partner,"

"Adventure Buddy," Stan corrects. "It's Adventure Buddy," 

"You cant expect me to remember-"

"You called me it for 18 years! You don't just forget that!" Stan strides towards a shocked Ford with malicious intent, fist clenched ready to sock him. Rick steps between them, flashing a charming smile to Stan. He doesn't want either to get hurt and ruin those extremely handsome faces. Then again, they'd look hot all beat up...

"W-Woah, hey... Come now, you g-guys can talk this shit out..."

Stan's arm shudders with rage. "Stay outta this, Rick,"

The man doesn't budge. "H-Hey, Lee, it's okay..." He places his hands gently on Stan's shoulders. "J-Just sit down and we can talk..."

"Fuck you, Rick!"

With his immense strength, Stan pushes Rick hard in the chest.

He intended to knock him over, get to confront Ford unabated. Except Rick stumbles back, hitting Ford with the force of his entire body propelled by the shove. Rick hits Ford, Ford loses his footing like the clumsy nerd he is.

One of them falling into the portal was inevitable, but why did it have to be Ford?

"Ford!" Stan lurches forward, reaching out to save him. But the tips of his outstretched hand disappear into the endless blue void.

Frozen in shock, Stan's body is no longer his own. A lump of dead weight that falls to its knees.

"Where did he go, Rick?" He asks, desperately. "Where did he go?!"

Rick approaches tentatively, ensuring his footsteps are so light, they're inaudible. "I-I don't know..." he admits.

"We have to get him back, we have ta!"

"L-Lee, this portal... I never - we never got to test it..."

He can't say it. Ford might be dead.

But Stan understands.

"No... No he ain't," Stan drags himself to his feet. Determination in his eyes, in his stance. Confident, proud. Ready. Complete survival mode, for the stakes are too high to neglect this time. This time, making his brother proud is he only option. "I'm gonna figure out how that thing works and I'm gonna find him! An' I ain't leaving here till I do!"

"I-I'll stay with you... if you let me,"

Stan turns to see a soft, touching expression gracing Rick's face. A moment of rare humanity.

"You don't hafta do that, Rick,"

"I-I wanna,"

"But what about travelling?! What about exploring, being a free spirit?!"

At this, Rick cannot help but burst out laughing. Cackling like a maniacal villain in a melodrama, "He... hehehe... L-Lee... ha... exploration? Are you k-kidding me?!"

He gesture grandly to the portal. "This th-thing might take is to dimensions beyond our wildest dreams... a-and you're asking if I wanna give all that up to travel,"

He smirks. "Lee, t-this is all I've ever wanted. The universe, multiverse, wh-whatever, at my fingertips,"

Stan charges at Rick who, for a second, thinks he's about to be attacked again. But the burly man pulls him into a tight, warm embrace. Gripping him son shuddering forearms, Rick thinks his bones will break under the power. "I owe you everything,"

Suddenly uncomfortable, unable to place himself in such a role, Rick is dumbstruck for a response. He can only laugh uncomfortably. "I-It's nothing, don't worry about it," he dismisses. _It's everything! _"Besides, you need my help. N-No way you could get that thing working on its own,"

"You're right," Stan admits with a tired, relieved laugh. "I wouldn't know where to begin,"

Rick doesn't much know either. But a clue must be around here somewhere of how to programme, identify and experiment in the intricate mechanics of this thing.

Heading upstairs, leaving Stan in the cavern, staring into the portal and bouncing with anxiety. He wanders the rest of the deceptively large interior, discovering a makeshift chemistry lab. The lab is reductive and minimalist, but it works well for home projects.

Those projects frame the entire back wall in colossal shelves. Thick folders bursting with papers inside which is a world of discoveries and experiments to explore. Rick smirks, he'll like living here. Have fun going through these. He slides a random folder from its place, roughly clearing a space on the work station and opening it at the front age. He skips over the title, instead skimming the references.

Scientists obsessively credit their own work no matter how small their contribution their research was. These stupid credits have the same energy as the Assistant Producer's Intern who looks for their own name buried in the end-of-film credits. It isn't easy for Rick to find the mentions of this project.

_Field research conducted by Stanford Filbrick Pines & Fiddleford Hadron McGucket_

"Fiddleford H-Hardon? No, _Hadron_. L-Like the Hadron Collider. Well sooomeone chose their own name,"

Rick saunters back downstairs, finding Stan crumbling in the isolation of the darkness. The light of the portal reminds him how Stan looks at night, when the moon rises over the skyscrapers. HIs head buries in his hands, his form radiates misery.

"Ch-Cheer up, Lee," Rick smiles. "Wwwwwe got a - got a lead,"

Stan looks up, a glimmer of hope flickering briefly in his eye. "We did?|"

Rick slaps the file down atop Ford's blueprints, staring ominously down at his partner. He points out the small name among the sea of confusing information.

"L-Looks like Ford got a new Adventure Buddy,"


	5. StanRick's

A gay couple in such a small town is not only a commodity, but a spectacle. Don't think Rick and Stan fail to notice the prying eyes peaking through only slightly drawn curtains which are then forced shut upon their scrutiny. How the shopkeepers fail to address them as individuals and instead a homogenous organism beyond human understanding. 

They lie in bed, on Ford's old one with the sheets they haven't yet washed. Rick reaches down, holding Stan's hand. Their relationship is no longer casual. and instead a commitment for however long it takes to return Ford to them. They may as well embrace it - even if neither is ready to admit they're in love. Which they are: so, so madly in love. 

"It-It'll take me a while to... to fix the portal..." Rick admits nervously, a sudden release of unintelligible thoughts, a process fragmented by his several raring trains of thought at once. 

"And an even longer while to find Ford, right?" 

"Yeah," Rick chuckles. "So we gotta do somethin' till then," 

Stan sits up, resting his back against the cool headboard. He's shirtless, bot having realised how warm these kinds of country towns could get. How did Ford get by wearing a trenchcoat, jumper and button-up? 

"Y'know, what happened at the Stop-n-Shop gives me an idea," 

* 

That afternoon, Rick and Stan had visited the local Stop-N-Shop together. Laughing, holding hands in a flippant but necessary short trip to stock up. Ford's supplies dwindled quickly, especially since the man consumed only protein bars and water it seems. 

Stan had been caught off-guard when the cashier recognised him not as himself, but as Ford. "Hey, you're that scientist guy, right? Who lives up on the hill?" 

"Uh..." 

"Stanford Pines, right?" 

"Well..." 

"I always wondered what you sciency-types were doin' with that shack. You wouldn't mind showing us sometime, would ya? The whole town's talkin' about it! Bet you've got a right museum up there!" 

* 

"So see, we could charge a fortune to show off the latest gadgets an' shit!" Stan grins, displaying teeth that are oddly pearly-white for how neglectful of brushing he is. "You could make the stuff and explain it all and I, well, I could sell tickets!" 

"S-Stan, I don't wanna be a dick but your sales tactics are... shit," Rick shakes his head, sitting up to to look Stan in the eyes. His face falls to serious. "If we're gonna do this, we oughta play on stereotypes. A-A gay couple is way more of a commodity here than a scientist everyone is already used to living here," 

"But I sin't gsy, Rick," 

"Wh-Whatever you damn are, you're dating a man. And to people who don't know any better that makes you gay AF," 

"So what are you thinkin' then?" 

"Well... have-have you noticed a distinct lack of cafes and coffee shops?" 

"What are you thinkin' of?" Stan looks at him with more intensity, his brow furrowed in confusion. Rick interprets this as scrutiny of his idea's flaws, shrinking in on himself. His self-confidence cripples, anxiety pounding in his chest. The overwhelming sensory fuckery occurring in his physical form freezing his thought process, leaving him lost in a sea of self-doubt and drifting among the shipwrecked corpses of ideas squashed by a perception of unworthiness. 

Rick's anxiety acts as a numbing agent, freezing his tongue, his mouth, his lips. His articulators no longer function and his mouth closes, shutting his assertive ideas down completely. What would restart the robot? Rick's never been to therapy, he doesn't know. 

"Are you thinking that we open our own coffee shop...?" Stan leads, trying to coax Rick out of his anxiety-induced withdrawal. 

"Is that idea shit? That's ides is shit- isn't it? W-We don't have to... I was only thinking, I-!... I'm sorry!" 

Stan bursts out laughing: it's too much. Rick is so cute when he's terrified, although Stan realises he doesn't need to be. He wonders how to help, but that's a conversation for another day. 

"You really need to stop apologising for stupid shit," 

"I-I can't help it... I'm sorry?" 

"Stop saying sorry!" 

Ricks hand falls in his lap an he looks down. "Sorry," 

"You care too much about what other people think," Stan slides an arm over his shoulders, nuzzling into Rick's nape and resting his chin on his warm collarbone. "But if you're thinking of opening a coffee shop in Gravity Falls, it's a great idea" 

"R-Really?" 

He smiles. "Let's do it," 

* 

it takes a surprisingly short time for them to convert the lobby of te shack and into a coffee shop. After promising the diner in the centre of town that they'll be no competition (by vowing not to sell pancakes) they begin converting everything. Since they're both city-dwellers and Stan's knowledge of DIY is confined to boat building, they hire the local trainee lumberjack 'Manly Dan' (Rick cringes at the nickname) to design and build everything from the tables to the counter to the supply closet. 

"Here- Here's your payment," Rick dumps a block of cash into the teen's hand upon completion. 

"Thanks, man! This'll really help me out. My girlfriend's pregnant, y'know!" Dan grins, his teeth a lot worse than Stan's. 

"O-Oh... is that... good?" Rick asks, expecting a punch in the face for his question. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah! We're keeping it, got a couple already. I'm gonna get a job and so's she - in the diner! And we're gonna raise the kid well,. If it's a boy, it's gonna be named Woodrow, if it's a girl, Wendy,"

_Let's hope it's a girl, _Rick thinks. 

"Well, if we're still open for business, jus' know your kid has a guaranteed job here when they hit 14!" Stan encourages. 

"Thanks so much guys! Ya know, you ain't too bad for a pair of-" 

"Th-Thank you, Dan!" Rick waves goodbye, ready to rescind Stan's offer at the slightest hint of homophobia. 

Rick easily forges a business licence for their shop and begins to paint it in a dark blue-ish green, a colour the local store had on discount. 

"Uh. Rick?" Stan asks, while the artist is engrossed in his work, enough so that his face, arms, legs, hair... are covered in paint. 

"Mhm?" he asks, alternating between a paint brush in his right hand and a bottle of whiskey. 

"Isn't this colour kinda copyrighted for coffee shops already? Ya know... for Starbucks??" Stan asks, looking around to trick his eyes. But still, the colour is exactly the one Starbucks uses. 

Rick grins,. An evil, malicious grin. "Y-Yeah. I did it for a meme," 

"Huh?" 

"I've looked-look-looked up the copyright laws. Firstly, there isn't a Starbucks within 100 miles of here. Second, nobody can copyright a colour. Third, it don't mean shit," he pauses for a second. "Wait, what are we naming this thing anyway?" 

"Uh... _The Coffee Shack_?" Stan suggest dully. 

"Wow, I thought you had more im-imagination that that," Rick hands him the bottle of whiskey from his place kneeling on the floor, but Stan declines dismissively. 

"So what were you thinkin' then?" Stan asks, realising he couldn't ever match the expanses of Rick's imagination. 

"What about _StanRick's_?" he looks up, face the picture of seriousness, awaiting Stan's reaction. Apparently, a smile wasn't the reaction he wanted. 

"_StanRick's_? Really?" he snorts. 

"Well, you gave me the idea when you mentioned Starbucks," Rick explained, excitement visible. "Let's make a coffee shop just on the borderline of copyright claims. But one they can't sue cause it's our names in the logo and title - and nobody can copyright colour. Besides, we'll be operating just in this tiny town. Like an international corporation will car," 

"That's... actually a super fun idea, Rick," Stan claps. "It's settled, then! Let's stick it to the capitalists!" 

Rick stands, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed as Stan was. "By opening a small business" 

"Hey, running a successful small business is the best way to do that," 

Rick shakes his head, letting himself smile widely. "D-Damn, who's the more intelligent twin again?" 

The mention of Ford, or of twins in general, brings a darkness overhead. Tension, sadness. Existential nothingness in the throes of grief. 

"We'll get him back, lee," Rick promises. 

"Yeah? How can you be so sure?" 

Rick steps in front of him, slipping arms around his waist. Leaning in, Rick bends down to kiss him. Softly, slowly, but passionately nonetheless. 

"Cause-Cause I have confidence in you and I. And that means a lot, coming from someone with no self-confidence," 

Stan guffaws in surprise. 

"Damn, I don't know how you always know what to say but ya do," 

"Just doing my best!" Rick awkwardly makes finger guns. "Pew-Pew," 

Stan smiles, this time gripping Rick's paint-sodden collar and dragging him down to kiss. "_StanRick's_ needs a sign, c'mon, I'll help ya," 

He grabs a paintbrush, quickly swiping down Rick's nose to leave a thin, green paint stripe. 

"Heyyyy!" Rick whines, grabbing his own and splashing paint across the wall, leaving a deep, splattered line across Stan's torso. 

"Oh, it's on!" He dips his brushes in the paint to their hilt, drenching them. 

Rick takes cover behind a table and they decorate their coffee shop in the blood spatter of a forest. 


	6. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket

Stan wipes down the counter of StanRick's, giving himself a brief flashback of his days as a lowly barista for the largest corporate coffee chain in existence. Thankfully, they haven't had a letter threatening to sue yet. That's gotta be good, right?

Rick appears beside him, manifested seemingly out of nowhere. He must've emerged from his hermit hole underground, where Ford used to work. Having turned it into his office. "I'm going out, to find Fiddleford," Rick states. "Gimme a kiss first?"

Stan smirks. He loves Rick, his heart swelling whenever the name, face, essence of the man pops into his mind. He isn't going to admit it, though. Stan can't show such weakness, not to the man he loves and not to himself.

"Okay, be careful okay? I don't know what kind of company brother keeps...kept..."

"F-F-Ford? He was a nerd with OCD, how dangerous could his little friend be?"

"You underestimate how far he'd go for his research!" Stan shakes his head. "Just be careful,"

"I can-can take care of myself..."

"That don't mean I don't worry," Stan reminds, sealing their contract of safety with a kiss.

"Y-You'll be okay running the shop without me, right?" Rick asked simply as a safety measure. Not that he underestimates his boyfriend.

"I'll be fine. Go," Stan encourages, kissing him with the tender passion of sappy romance novel.

*

Asking around to find Fiddleford is easy, the people here are so uppity and in everyone else's business. Yet the name 'Fiddleford' seems to grind everyone's gears a lot more than the surname 'McGucket' does.

He arrives at the house, ringing the doorbell. Standing in wait, Rick watches the curtains to toe front window. Someone pulls them back, checking him out briefly, with a suspicious glare. A skinny, lanky guy with resting bitch face then appears at the door

"What do you want?" presumable Fiddleford asks in a voice as posh and refined and Ford's, with the same fake attempt at that being his natural voice. "Wait... aren't you Rick Sanchez?"

"Y-Yeah... uh, Fiddleford I guess?"

The man looks around and pulls him inside.

"I remember you... Ford talked about you," His eyes fill suddenly with tears. "He told me that if you knock on my door, then he was swallowed by the portal,"

"I- that's right... I'm sorry, or whatever..." Rick pouts, feeling sympathy for this man and especially the grief his boyfriend is going through. Maybe Fiddleford can help since they both lost Ford at the same time? "I- I need your help to bring him back..."

They end up in Fiddleford's boring-ass living room, sipping tea from equally boring white cups. _All these goodie-goodie types are boring,_ Rick reflects. Maybe he can sneak some booze into the tea they share. The living room contains a lab station in the back and a large window that looks onto the street. it'd be a good view, if it wasn't hidden by thick curtains pulled across all the way, even in the afternoon. Fiddleford lives up to his name and fiddles with his shirt collar.

"I miss Sixer," Fiddleford admits. "A lot,"

"S-Sixer?" Rick puts two and two together. "Ford, right?"

"It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me!"

"W-Well... that's why-why I'm here. To get him back. I need your research on inter-dimensional travel,"

"So you need my help? I assume I'll need to be there to guide you through the process, no?" Fiddleford offers.

Rick glowers, realising what Fiddleford is doing. He isn't used to being in the presence of someone as smart as him, and being figured out so quickly. Or figured out at all. Rick develops a begrudging respect for him. Acknowledging that this guy knows way more than him about this field of physics.

"Y-Yeah, I need your help,"

"Then you'll get it. I need my Sixer back too. He's the only one who accepted me,"

"Accepted you?" Rick fs. "Why...? Oh, 'cause you're both smart, right?"

"Uh, yeah,"

Now they talk.

They discuss what happened to Ford in detail, Rick outlining each circumstance of the event. He remembers how the portal swallowed him up, the methods they used to create is force and what that should, theoretically but not demonstrably, do to the human body. Fiddleford nods along, create a mental picture he refuses to share with Rick.

"I think I can help," Fiddleford agrees.

"Great!"

Rick watches him skirt around the office, producing a thick file in binding. Fiddleford slaps it onto the desk with a thunderous clap, making Rick jump.

"This is everything I have on our research," he states.

"Uh... thanks," Rick takes the folder. "I was hoping you'd come help?"

Fiddledord tenses, suddenly standing straight as a pun. Everything so rigid he may as well have been made of wood. A reaction Rick recognises as trauma-induced anxiety.

"Y-You don't have to, it's okay," he assures.

"I know I don't have to!"

"I-I was only being nice..." Rick mutters.

"You don't have to be nice to me. Just don't act all nice when you really aren't," Fiddleford glances down at him, crossing his scrawny arms over his chest.

Rick can usually figure people out quite well, albeit not their social cues. But Fiddleford remains an enigma, his motives and thought processes concealed behind a masking layer of caution. He's being standoffish to protect himself. What from? Did Ford really speak so badly of Rock that Fiddleford feels the need to stay away?

"S-Sorry... I don't mean to b a dick. I'll leave," Rick bundles the files into his arms and clutches them to his chest, standing by the door awaiting Fiddlefrod to open it.

"You can let yourself out, just close the door behind you,"

He doesn't even want to come to the door? Rick's hand hovers just over the door handle and he realises: Fiddleford is terrified of leaving his house.

"I-If you have social anxiety I get it... me too. But w-wouldn't it work better if you... if you came to help?" while being very prideful, Rick has no problem accepting help when it's needed. Only when it's needed though. And never from anyone he deems an asshole.

"Excuse me?" Fiddleford demands incredulously. "Want would you know?!"

Rick's eyes darken, his teeth grinding with offence. He doesn't assume shit about other people and when they do it to him. it's unforgivable.

"I know-know what it's like to live somewhere you don't feel fuckin' safe,"

Fiddleford shakes his head. "You can't possibly. Living somewhere your entire identity, everything that makes you yourself, makes you a second-class citizen,"

Only now does Rick realise their kinship[. Damn, seems his radar's broken today. He barks out a laugh, startling Fiddleford. "S-Seems like Ford didn't tell you shit 'bout me after all," he grins, exposing rows of wolfish sharp teeth.

"What?"

"I'm pan-pansexual, asshole. Know wh-what that means? It's-"

"I know what it means," Fiddleford states softly, without confidence. But Rick still believes him.

"Great, c'mon. If-If anyone says shit, I'll fucking obliterate them," Rick grins. He wrenches open the door, releasing a beam of light from its outdoor prison.

"Don't you want to know...?"

"What the fuck you are?" Rick shakes his head. "I don't care. You can tell me if you want but I don't care,"

The return trip to the coffee shop is tenser than Rick expected. Much more so than when he approached alone. The same tension he felt when inquiring about Fiddleford before has returned. Rick shrugged it off before, but now his curiosity about Fiddleford is peaked. For the people of this town to react to him with much more hostility than they reacted to Rick, how _abnormal _is this guy?

A group of kids stand by the side of the road, chatting obnoxiously. When Rick and Fiddleford walk by, their conversation drops to suspicious silence. Several pairs of beady eyes stare at the pair as they pass, trying discreetly but with intensity to pretend they haven't noticed they're the centre of attention.

"Hey, got a hardon Fiddleford _Hardon_?"

Rick notices him tensing further, arms quivering in his anxiety.

"Oh wait, he doesn't! Cause he can't!"

The crowd bursts into raucous laughter. Fiddleford speed-walks away while Rick follows.

"Did they just call you Fiddleford _Hardon_?" Rick laughs too. "You=You gotta admit that- that's funny as fuck,"

Walking up beside Fiddleford, Rick notices the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He's crying. Silently.

"H-Hey... what's the big deal?? They were just making fun of your fake-ass middle name. You're the one who decided to change it tp hadron,"

Fiddleford screeches to a halt in the centre of the path, staring at Rick with deep hurt.

"Wh-What, you didn't expect me to believe your parents named you Fiddleford Hadron did you?" he snorts.

"Th-That's it!" Fiddleford turns on his heel. "I'm not helping you!"

He begins to walk back but realises that if he does, he'll have to pass the group of kids. Alone this time.

Rick smirks as he watches the vexed Fiddleford resign to walk back to the coffee shop with Rick. They walk in silence now, steps out of sync.

"I-I shouldn't have made fun of your name," Rick admits, crumbling the stone path under his shoe. "Getting picked on like that sucks, no matter what the reason,"

"It doesn't matter," Fiddleford lies, back straightened, head up. Rick smiles, inspired by his confidence.

"Y-Yeah, fuck them!" Rick turns his heads to shout it right at them.

"Fuck them..." Fiddleford agrees, much quieter.

*

StanRick's coffee shop smells of fresh paint applied to the walls. Rick whistles, impressed by his boyfriend's vigour.

He hops on the stool by the bench, watching Stan emerge from the back room.

"Hey, did ya find-?"

But Stan is rushed by Fiddleford. He stands overly close and cranes his head to inspect every detail of Stan's face. Stan looks to Rick for help, but he just shrugs, just as confused. Thankfully, Fiddleford gives his explanation.

"Sixer told me he had a twin but... He didn't say you're identical..." he adjusts his glasses to inspect closer. "Are you sure you aren't a clone?"

He asks all this, but the truth remains that he refuses to see. Stan may be Ford's identical twin, but there are stark differences that prove he isn't. For one thing, Stan only has 10 fingers.

"I-I'll take-take a plain black coffee and... what are you having?" Rick asks Fiddleford.

"Um, a latte?"

"That'll be £3.50,"

Rick stares at Fiddleford, who stands there awkwardly before realising he's supposed to pay.

"O-Oh, sorry," he fumbles with his wallet, handing the cash over to Stan.

"So ya knew my brother huh?" Stan asks, regarding Fiddleford with a tight frown. However, his inquisitive eyes betray his cold expression. They scream with a desire to ask: _What was he like?! Did he ever talk about me?! What kind of person was he, when you were someone he appreciated? _

"W-we..," Before he can answer, Rick grabs his arm. "We should get to work. Th-That portal ain't fixing itself,"

"Wait!" Stan calls, but Rick grabs their coffees and whisks off downstairs, to the secret laboratory.

*

"What was that about?" ask Fiddleford hesitantly. Is it really his business to ask?

"L-Look, please don't talk about Ford to him right now," Rick asks, hopping on the side of Ford's old table. Fiddleford busies himself with setting up the blueprint and reading Rick's research. "He's grieving, and I-I don't know what stage he's in... Bargaining, maybe?"

Rick shakes his head solemnly.

"H-He wants to know what Ford was like, because in his mind, if Ford was nice to others it means it's his fault Ford mistreated him. So he'll blame himself for Ford being a shitty brother,"

"Sixer never mistreated anyone!" Fiddleford defends with offence.

Rick fixes him with a dangerous glare, eyes darkened by the shadow of his brow. From his pocket, he pulls a cigarette, speaking it with a lighter. Not caring he's among hoards of chemicals, radioactive fluids. "Oh-Oh yeah? Keep telling yourself that,"

He jumps down from the desk, snatching the papers out Fiddleford's hands. "Let's just get to work,"

They work and drink coffee. Conversation is limited to the minimum communication between lab partners. It reminds Rick of Bakupsmore. Except he and Ford would always bicker. He was never the one who initiated it, but he didn't have to rise to it either. In the end, they both fucked up each other's academic careers. Even if they were both doomed from the start.

Rick slides over on his spinny chair. Fiddleford's eye twitches when he knocks into the table. "Wh-What have you found so far?"

"I've found a way to detect dimensions, at least detect splits in our time-space reality, which should be called a different dimension, um..."

So the multiverse does exist, and they have the device to explore it.

"Is-Is there any way to track down where the portal took Ford?" He cranes over Fiddleford's shoulder to look at the data.

"Not the exact one, no," Fiddleford shakes his head. "Fuck did you not think to install some tracking device... or at least gave him a rope?!"

"I was-!" no, Rick can't tell him that. "We were probably too excited to think of it,"

"Hmph," Fiddleford scoffs, his voice lowering. "More like you were too impulsive,"

"Wh-What the fuck was that?" Rick stands up, looming over him just by a couple of inches.

"Sorry, I'm... angry," Fiddleford admits.

"Yeah..." Rick reflects on the whole of this fucked up situation. "Me too,"

He stares into the swirling, nebulous void of the portal. "Wan-Wanna get drunk?"

His coffee is empty anyway.

"Absolutely not!" Fiddleford guffaws with outrage.

Rick raises his hands in surrender. "I-I just asked,"

"Well, either way - we can't track the portal that swallowed Sixer. However, it's untrue that he's lost in an infinite multiverse,"

"Huh, how so?"

Fiddleford slides the computer around to reveal a congealed knot of dots diluted form one, like markers on a radar system. "The portal is an early form of trans-dimensional teleportation. We have a finite reach and therefore..."

"The-The portal could only go to a limited number of dimensions!"

"Indeed!"

They stand, unable to sit still any longer for their excitement.

"So these- these are all dimensions?!" Rick gasps, eyes flitting over each one. Entirely different realities reduced to glowing luminescent dots.

"Correct. The range of the portal is 53 dimensions out of a total... well, infinite number,"

"So we have to..." the gravity of the task dawns on Rick like a blinding sunrise. "Explore-Explore 53 dimensions to find one man.. we don't even know the sizes of these dimensions or their characteristics! We have nothing!"

"Calm down," Fiddleford's hands hover just over Rick's shoulders. "Can I touch you?"

"I-I-I- I don't mind-"

The hands feel like boulders, grounding him to gravity. He cuts Rick off. "We have a way to find him. At least to detect and ensure he's alive,"

"How?" he asks immediately, a coarse desire in his throat. But not because he wants Ford back. He couldn't care less. Because he knows Stan can't handle living without his twin brother.

"If we scan for organic matter, we can narrow it down," Fiddleford explains.

Rick thinks hard, forcing his frustration out into his balled fists.

"B-But what if the tech doesn't work across dimensions?"

"Well, let's try," Fiddleford offers. He calibrates the scanner across the dimensions, the little dots on the radar. He and Rick wait with their breath hitched, silent. Awaiting crushing defeat or overwhelming victory.

One tiny dot blinks red.

Rick and Fiddleford let out a relieved sigh, the latter reaching out and touching the dot with his finger, just to make it seem real. A halo of red appears around it.

Rick bites his lower lip before slumping back onto the table. "We-We found him. B-But how the fuck do we get to him?" Tears prick in his eyes, with his legs shaking and feeling like he's about to collapse any minute, Rick heads for the door.

"Where are you going?" asks Fiddleford.

*

Rick appears at the doorway of their coffee shop, noticing that Stan's already turned around the _'Closed'_ sign to show_ 'Open'_. They're officially in business.

He takes off his apron, tossing it to Rick who catches it in a swift motion. Looking over at his boyfriend, Stan sees the melancholy defeat sketched across his face in the lightest of pencil shades.

"Bad news?" he asks, despite fearing the answer.

Rick schedules a secret cry in the shower later: for now, he has a partner to support.

Seeing Stan propels a flood of emotion out, and he jumps into his arms, waiting on them enveloping him in their stronghold. "N-Not exactly bad news... g-good news really, we found him... I just don't know how to bring him back,"

He can't look at Stan, instead struggling from his hold and putting on the apron.

"Rick, you found him..." Stan's grin spreads, revealing large yellowing teeth. Some may call it ugly, Rick calls it beautiful. A magnificent outlet of joy the same as oil painting or playing the violin. "You found him! _YOU FOUND HIM! _This is amazin' Rick,"

Although he isn't feeling it, Rick can't help but return the grin. "Y-yeah, am I?"

"Yeah! I'm so happy. You ass, and I thought you'd given up,"

"N-never would I give up on you," Rick runs his finger along Stan's bottom lip, kissing it gently following with the tiniest of nibbles.

A faint _'ahem'_ sounds from the doorway.

Rick shifts uncomfortably. "F-Fiddleford helped, Lee. I... I couldn't've done it without him,"

Stan takes in the image of the ticked-off Fiddleford standing there. "Thanks, I really appreciate it,"

"You're welcome, indeed," Fiddleford can't be disappointed, Ford did tell him how inconsiderate his twin is. But he doesn't seem so bad in person. _Wow, I can't believe I just said that after all Sixer told me. _

"Rick can make us some coffee, on the house,"

"C-c'mon Lee, I-I just found your damn brother," Rick grunts, staring at the coffee machine with disdain. Making coffees isn't his forte, science is.

"Hey, this is a partnership and I've done all the work here today,"

Rick sighs like he's been asked to scale a cliffside. "C-Can you at least greet customers?" His anxiety is flaring up, Stan can tell.

"Sure," Stan agrees.

Stan and Fiddleford lounge on some of the cushioned seats. Stan tells Fiddleford stories of he and Ford from his perspective, or times Ford forgot about. Fiddleford tells him stories of he and Sixer and their investigations into the world of interdimensional discovery.

"And he got all tangled in the sail! Wrapped the threat around all six of his fingers, couldn't get his hand untangled!" Stan snorts with obnoxious volume.

Rick snickers too, draping his body over the bar. No customers have entered, perhaps because they can hear what sounds like an orchestra of mangy cats form outside. "Wow, you guys are so gay,"

"That's not very woke of you," Stan smirks back. He realises Fiddleford is suddenly uncomfortable._ Was it the joke, is he really offended? _

"Don' worry, Rick's sense of humour ain't for everyone," Stan shrugs. "He grows on ya the better you get to know him. Promise,"

"It's not that," Fiddleford shifts in the seat, staring down at his hands. "You guys... are the only other... I mean the only queer people I've ever met,"

"Yeah, gonna have to disagree buddy. Just because someone don't look it doesn't mean they ain't in the community. I mean, I'm straight acting and Rick... he's too edgy nobody would assume shit," Stan gay-splains the small-town scientist. "Bet you didn't know Ford is bi either,"

"H-Hey, I'm not edgy. I'm angsty. There's a difference," Rick corrects, mock-irate but honestly slightly annoyed. He can't stand 'edgy' people.

Fiddleford watches them interact. He's been suppressed all his life in his identity and who he is. Meeting other people like this fees freeing, even though he knows it shouldn't. Should he out himself? They probably already know he's queer but... not exactly what makes him that way.

He decides he'd better get home before dark.

He thought this place would remind him too much of Sixer, resurface too many old memories. But the redecoration and repurposing into a coffee shop makes this place easier to cope with. He contemplates sneaking out unnoticed, but the humiliation of asking Rick tp walk him back is worth not having to wander through the city alone. At least Rick won't beat the shit out of him... probably.

"Y-You can stay the night, r-right Lee?" Rick looks to his partner for confirmation.

"Yeah, this place is bigger than I thought. We got some spare rooms," Stan shrugs.

"Really?" Fiddleford looks between them, feeling a weird combination of gratitude and anxiety. They both nod with a smile, and Fiddelford graciously accepts. A master at concealing his feelings.

*

This old house creaks and groans whenever someone moves. Fiddleford lies in bed, terrified of being caught if he goes down to the kitchen to have some water. Is he allowed to do that? Rick and Stan had told him to 'make himself at home' but what does that even mean?

He stares at the dreaded garment on the floor, which he discarded before bed. His anxiety of sleeping in it was far greater than that of being accidentally randomly caught in bed without it on. And even if he does go downstairs for water, his body aches too much to put it on.

Fiddleford's dry throat wins in the end and his socked feet hit the biting cold wooden floor of this attic room. He tries to step as silently as possible, avoiding the creakiest floorboards von his way down.

The kitchen is in total darkness, but through the shadows of moonlight, he can see the sink. _Just get some water, go back to your room and nobody will ever know. _

Just as he's leaning over the sink, a sudden click makes him jump. The stainless steel reflects the overhead light, now brightening the room. Standing at the doorway is Rick, who judging from the empty glass in his hand, is here for the same reason. "Wanna-Wanna tell me why you're getting water in the dark?"

Fiddleford quickly shuts off the tap, slouching as much as possible in his thin grey t-shirt. But Rick already saw.

Rick sees the panic and humiliation in Fiddleford's eyes. His heart spikes with painful empathy, an emotion he's unused to. That fear is the same thing he felt the day his father found his flag tucked away behind his bed.

"I-I'll leave, I'll call a taxi. I'm sorry. Can I get my things please?" Fiddleford tries to push his wild hair down over his cheeks, which he can hide when it's done but not with his messy bedhead.

"H-Hey, hey, calm down," Rick reaches out and grabs his hands. "You'll rip out your hair,"

Fiddleford stares at him through eyes glossy in his dissociation. Rick identifies the panic attack and gently leads him to a chair, letting him sit down.

"I-If it makes you feel any better, I had no idea," Rick pours Fiddleford the glass of water he wanted, setting the cup down in front of him. "You-You pass. I don't know how helpful that is right now..." Rick looks down, rendered unsure at this situation he hasn't been in before.

Fiddleford gulps audibly. Deeply. He's usually either stealth or the outcast of this small town. Never before has he been _both out and accepted._

Stan's footsteps can be heard approaching and Fiddleford's look of panic returns. Rick quickly sits in front of him, ensuring Stan can't see past him.

"Gah! Why the fuck is the light on?!" Stan rubs his stinging eyes. "And why are you having a casual table conversation or some shit in the middle of the night?"

Rick's face falls to a neutral expression, hinting at slight annoyance. "We-We're talking about uh... physics,"

Stan quirks an eyebrow. "Damn, remind me to never be a part of such _fun_ conversations,"

He stumbles back to bed in his fatigue. His footsteps grow audibly quieter until Rick hears their bedroom door close.

Rick turns back to Fiddleford. "I-I'm not gonna tell him. It isn't my secret to tell or my decision to make... if you ever make it at all,"

Fiddleford's voice croaks out a tiny 'thank you', his throat burning as he struggles to hold back tears.

"Did-Did Ford know?"

Fiddleford pauses, his lips turning up to a sad, nostalgic smile. "He was the only person I could talk to about it. The only person who didn't shy away from being seen with me in the street. He never judged me and was always there for me. But... I don't know, it felt like he was only that way because I pass. Because I'm stealth,"

"I-I think that's just his weirdly ass-assertive personality. But I get it,"

Stanford was never homophobic in Backupsmore, in fact, Rick would call him quite accepting. However, he was always disapproving whenever Rick talked about it. Almost like he wanted it tucked away in the corner and not acknowledged. Excepting Rick and anyone else in the community to be entirely straight-acting without expressing their identity openly. That was with him, a pansexual who's pretty straight-acting anyway. Rick can't imagine what he'd be like with a non-passing trans person.

Then there's Stanley. Rick can't imagine him having any sort of problem with Fiddleford, or trans people in general. He's way more accepting than Ford was regardless. As an ally though, he probably doesn't know much. Which isn't his fault, he grew up sheltered with conservative parents. But for now, he'd probably be pretty confused and ignorant on a lot of trans issues. Without prejudice, but just curious. He'd probably ask a lot of questions, which Fiddleford would be understandably awkward answering.

"I'd-I'd better get back to bed," Rick decides, standing up. "Oh, and I'm really so-sorry about earlier. The name thing? I didn't know and I made fun of you,"

He pauses, grinning sheepishly. "Y-you gotta, ad-admit, 'Hadron' to 'Hardon' is funny as fuck,"

"I knooooow," Fiddleford groans, head falling on the table. "I changed it before I realised and now I'm stuck with it!"

"If-If you want my advice, and you might not... fucking own it. It's o-okay to laugh at yourself. Stan and I love doing it,"

"Thanks for the advice," Fiddleford accepts sardonically.

"An-And you don't gotta worry about Stanley. H-He'll never find out. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't-hadn't caught you,"

Rick realises too late that 'caught' is the wrong word to use. It has shitty connotations and Rick doesn't have any of those shitty thoughts.

Too anxious to apologise again, Rick goes back to bed without even a 'goodnight'. Fiddleford watches him leave, realising he's only again exposed in the kitchen with the light on. He lets out a small squeak and tugs his shirt, slouching on his way back upstairs lest he run into either man again. Especially Stan.

Back in the guest room, he contemplates Rick. From what Sixer said, he was expecting an asshole, a lazy, degenerate asshole who didn't care about anyone but himself. That was Sixer's exact description, in fact. As for Stan, while he is the jock type that puts Fiddleford on edge, he's a lot kinder and more considerate than Sixer said during one of his many rants about his twin.

Soft, rhyming bumping can be heard through the wall. Fiddleford groans. _Oh gross! They aren't... are they? _

But they are, light banging every few seconds alerts him to their slow but passionate pace as the volume raises, building to a crescendo. Fiddleford wraps a pillow around his ears to block the noise. He takes it off every few minutes to see if it's safe, but they can go longer than he expected was humanly possible.

.the pillow is useless to block out the final cry of pleasure that echoes throughout the shack. "Fuck... Rick...I'm gonna!"

The following silence lasts long enough for Fiddleford to remove the pillow, eyes darting around as he listens for the faintest disturbance. None are heard, and he sighs in relief, imagining they're asleep. He realises he might actually get some sleep during this clusterfuck of a night. He's able to dismiss the visions of horror that plague his mind. Visions of Sixer being swallowed by the portal, something he didn't even witness, but that his imagination is too vivid to ignore.

It's strangely easy to slip into slumber, a linear pattern rather than the jagged obstacles common in this task. Maybe because he's no longer anxious or because he prefers sleeping in a house with company over being alone.

Until, to his chagrin most intense, he hears that faint bumping again. Getting louder and louder with each second.

_Well, I'm getting absolutely zero sleep tonight_, Fiddleford resigns himself to.


	7. Domestic Life

"Mmm, morning hun," Stan rolls over in bed but feels only an empty space beside him. 

After dressing, he walks downstairs to find Rick at the bar of their coffee shop basking in the morning light. And by the look on Rick's face, he's just as surprised as Stan that they have a few morning breakfast customers.

"G-Grab an apron, we're packed!" Rick celebrates. "Isn't it great?" 

Stan wants to say no and tell Rick to come back to bed. Just kick everyone out and close the shop! But he watches proudly as his anti-social boyfriend serves customers albeit with his leg bouncing with anxiety.

But then, he gets closer. And smells something distinct.

"Are you drunk?!"

"W-what makes you think that?"

Stan fixes Rick with a hard stare, something he learned from watching the _ Paddington _ film. "I know what alcohol smells like. Why are you drinking in the morning?" 

"I-I wanted to open the shop and surprise you..." Rick admits sheepishly.

He couldn't have served customers sober, Stan knows this. He was just trying to do something nice, and he needed alcohol to do it. Stan laughs, his laugh more baritone than his words. "Thanks, I mean it. But you don't hafta fuck up your anxiety for me, okay?"

"I j-just thought you'd be happy,"

"I _ am _ happy," Stan chuckles. "But I'm happy with you anyway, you didn't have to do all this," 

Hours pass by, and the coffee shop grows busy; as busy as it can be for a small town. Rick and Stan are the only gay couple and as such, a commodity. People come and get coffee just to experience them. Especially since they don't exactly blend-in appearance-wise either.

"Let's go on a date tonight," Stan suggests, during their lunch break.

"A-A date?" Rick gives him a strange look. They may be officially a couple, but this is Rick's first relationship and he doesn't know what to do yet. This is all so new for him.

Stan knows this and wants to help Rick ease into a relationship. What better way to do so than a real date, now that they're both making money and have a place to stay? They're the stooge of the town but Stan doesn't mind. Rick, however, loathes the attention they receive as the town's gay couple. A spectacle to be put on display. He glares at everyone who dares make eye contact.

"You're scaring off potential customers," Stan whispers the reminder in his ear. They sit in one of the more slightly nice-ish Italian restaurants in the town, on their date. Rick gulps down his glass of rum-and-coke with lime to give him time to think of a response.

"Th-This was your decisions to come here, what did you expect?" he asks, irate. "Did you - BUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPP- did you think I'd walk on eggshells like these assholes now that we're in public?" 

"Sorry, I shouldn't expect you to. This is a date, we should relax," Stan proposes nursing his own glass of wine. He bought one only because it seemed like the ate drink, not because he actually likes wine. Is he one of those 'sheeple' Rick talks about?

The waitress reminds Stan of Susan. She approaches their table with eager curiosity. "Have you decided what you wanna order yet?" she asks.

Stan orders for them both. "We'll have the plate of shrimp and sharing sundae. That's enough for two people, right?"

"Of course, thank you!" She takes their menus and leaves.

Stan observes Rick's nervous glances around the restaurant. "Are you okay?"

"H-Huh? Me?" Rick asks as if oblivious.

"You've been nervous since we got to this place. This town,. I mean. What's going on with you?"

Honestly, he's claustrophobic, stuck somewhere like this. "I-I guess I'm just weirded out by the domestic life," he chuckles.

Stan smiled, relating to his boyfriend's woes. "You wanna explore the dimensions, don't cha?" He surveys Rick squirming with nerves.

"As-as if!" he denies, presuming Stan wouldn't take kindly to his adventurous spirit. "I got you, that's all I need,"

Stan frowns with genuine offence. "Don't lie to me, Rick. You hate it here. Guess what? So do I,"

Stan explains with a hard, commanding voice.

"R-Really?" Rick winders aloud. "You wanna explore the multiverse with me? After we find Ford, of course,"

"Rick, I-" for once, the salesman is lost for words.

"Th-there's no pressure!" Ric assures, shaking his head. He shouldn't have even said anything at this stage. The offer feels like an obligation.

Stan knows this is the truth. The real truth. There's no pressure on his to make a decision right now and just as well since he has no idea what he wants.

The waitress brings their food, a welcome distraction for both of them. They have a lot more in common than anyone would perceive. Stan and Rick, the couple who appear opposites but are twins in so many ways.

"Well well well, check out these fags,"

A group of teenagers from the town have crowded their table. They must've seen them from the window. Rick recognises them as the guys who jeered at Fiddleford. And hanging by the back is 'Manly Dan' looking like he's trying not to get noticed.

"Ain't this swell, you're here on your little fag date. The happy couple," Their leader jeers.

"I-I bet, you raging teens' hormones ain't got a fuckin' clue whether to find us sexy or not," Rick laughs sardonically, eyeing them with his dangerous warning. "Better-Better fuck off before Stan or I give you a hardon you can't explain," Rick uses the word they use to make fun of Fiddleford.

"Ooh, are you scared? W-W-What little fags," The leader mocks Rick's speech impediment. If he knew he's being ableist and he probably doesn't) he doesn't care.

"Why are you even with him?" the leader asks Stan, surprising everyone there. "His mouth ain't shit with that stutterin'. No way he gives a good blowie,"

Stan gives them a really strange look, wondering if he knows what he just said. "Was that an offer, you weirdo?"

The leader seems to realise what he just said, earning a few snickers from his friends. He blushes deeply as they accept Stan's comeback over him.

Stan decides to lay the mockery on thicker, realising just how fragile this guy's masculinity is. "You call us fags, and we ain't even fully gay,"

"Y-Yeah," Rick agrees, putting on the macho act to mirror Stan. "If you-you're gonna discriminate, at least know what the fuck you're discriminating against,"

This time, the leader gets right in their face, not playing around.

"Hey let's just go," Manly Dan pleads, sending an apologetic and worried look to Rick and Stan. He doesn't wanna be a part of this any more than they do.

"Tch, whatever," the leader scoffs. "These queers ain't worth it,"

The gang leaves in a plethora of disgruntled moans.

A girl approached their table, no older than them. Her badge reads '_ Assistant Manager _', a meaningless title with no real power over decision-making. "I'm sorry, but I need you both to leave," she sounds genuinely apologetic.

"Excuse me?" Stan demands, exaggerating his offence.

"We have a strict 'No Causing Disturbance Policy," she explains.

"We- We were just a-accosted!" Rick defends.

"I-I understand that, but we have a strict policy on cussing,"

Stan and Rick observe the other patrons of the restaurant, families staring at them with wide eyes. Apparently, their argument had been louder than they intended.

"S-Sorry, we'll go," Rick acquiescences. "We-We own the coffee shop down there. Customer service can be- be shitty,"

"Thank you. Really," she smiles with sincerity. "I'll give you your food to go, on the house,"

They take their food to a hill, one bathed in darkness. They sit on it, surrounded by black grass and staring into the lights of the city below.

"Wh-What's the bet that asshole Googles 'not fully gay' when he gets home and realised he's actually bi?" Rick snorts with laughter, taking a sip of his free refill of rum and coke.

"I don't know, I don't like the whole 'homophobes are just gays in disguise' jokes," Stan shakes his head. "It embarrasses them sure, but it also invalidates real homophobia,"

"When did you become so socially aware, huh?"

Stan pots out his free wine: he needs to look after drunk Rick and hates it anyway.

"Th-That's valid, I don't do it again," Rick agrees.

He lies on the grass to gaze up at the velvet sky. Rick doesn't bother guessing what the clouds look like: he'll be among the stars soon enough.

"It's beautiful, ain't it?" Stan asks about the city below. "The people might suck, and we haven't found Ford yet but... this feels like home when I'm with you,"

Rick watches the stars, picking out constellations he wishes he could remember the names of. Stan's right, this town is beautiful. "It-It isn't the town that's beautiful t'night,"

"Why does being a romantic weirdly suit ya?" Stan chortles, downing the rest of his drink. 

"Wa-Wanna go back to the coffee shop and get drunk off our asses all night?" Rick wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

"That's all I ever wanted, love," 

"Ugh, now-now who's the romantic?" 

"Still you,"

* 

Back at the coffee shop, Rick leans over the counter and Stan sits at the coffee bar. The opposite of how they met. It feels kinda cute. 

Both are used to laughing at things they forgot about. A few hours of oblivious happiness before the world returns to its gradual decay before their eyes. They somehow end up descending to the lair underground, staring into the void of the portal. 

It's a lighter blue than the sky, but a prettier one. 

"T-Tell me about Ford before he became... w-well, Ford. When he was still 'Sixer' or whatever," 

Stan stares at the blurry mess of diluted colour through half-lidded eyes. He manages not to try before his story begins, but each word is punctuated by a dry sob. 

"He was okay, if you knew him," The drunken slur elaborates. " Sixer was set in his ways, a hard-headed jerk who didn't think of anyone else," 

"S-Sounds- Sounds familiar," Rick pouts. He isn't like that, is he? 

"But he was really judgy, it made me feel like a piece of shit. No matter what I did, it didn't impress him because he was aeons ahead of me. My achievements were his failures," 

He remembers when he came out. Or was pressured to. Stanford didn't understand, with a fixed mindset and the same weird social expressions as their father pre-college. He didn't know what 'bisexual' is, and wen Stanley explained, it made things worse. 

_ "You need to tell our parents, it's not fair they don't know! It's like lying to them!" _

So he did, and after that, his father was just looking for an excuse to kick him out. The incident with Ford's project was all he needed. 

Ford didn't feel responsible in the slightest. He just didn't understand that what he did was the catalyst to all this. 

_ "You made me come out! You've ruined everything! I was happy, I could've stayed happy!" _

_ "Stan, you're drunk," _

_ "That lifestyle... it isn't good for you! They had to know so they could protect you. I can't protect you forever!" _

_ "Well, now you never have to protect me again!" _

"Wooooow," Rick shakes his head, genuinely saddened by Stan's story. "He's a - he's a real dick, I'm sorry but he is. Fuck, I'm so sorry that shit happened to you. I had no -no idea," 

Stan examines the wood grain in the counter. How smooth it is, how it flows the same way like the fragment of a river ripped from its place in the world. "I can't-can't believe I was- was into him," 

"You were?" Stan asks, surprised. 

"Is it such a surprise? You're twins and I'm into-into you," Rick analyses Stan's expression. "Or do you still-still not believe someone could ever be into you?"

"Why even _ are _you into me?" Stan shakes his head incredulously. "I ain't got shit to offer someone like you. You're smart, you can do whatever you want in life..." 

Rick reaches over, taking Stan's hand in his. A gentle touch that Stan still isn't used to. "And-And I choose to be here, in this coffee shop. With you,"

Stan's heart swells in his chest. Nobody has ever wanted to spend time with him like this before. It's always just been an obligation. 

"You really think I'm worth it?" he looks up at Rick, hopeful of acceptance but terrified of rejection. 

"You-You're insecure, and that's somethin' I gotta fix," Rick grins. "Because- cause if I'm gonna spend the rest of-of my life searching the universe with you, I need to know y-you believe in me. And that means believing in yourself,"

Stan would love to say something profound in response, but that's just not him and they both know it. "Now who's the romantic?" he nudges Rick in the ribs. 

"A-Anyway, you were saying, about Ford...?" Rick distracts himself with a sip of coffee laced with Bailey's. 

"He wanted meritocracy. He wanted the smart to succeed and the... uh, not-smart, to fail cause we all deserved it apparently," 

Rick hesitates. "Do-Do you not like smart - uh, science-y people?" 

"No!," Stan laughs. "Science people are great! As long as they ain't obnoxious about it. Ford liked to hide his snobbish pride under the veil of having no social skills. That just made it easier to see how little he valued ya," 

"Y-You never know...." Rick hums thoughtfully. "He might be-be different now. You guys never got a chance to talk really. Before..." 

But Stan's head lies on the counter, a faint but growling snore emitting from him. 

"Sh-Shhhhhit," Rick can't carry him to the bedroom so he does the next best thing. He grabs a blanket and drapes it over Stan's shoulders, tucking it in to ensure it doesn't fall off. 

_ "If I'm gonna spend the rest of-of my life searchi _ _ ng the universe with you, I need to know y-you believe in me," _

"The rest of my life... did-did I really say that?" 

Rick doesn't commit. He just doesn't - he can't. Where does it leave him then if anything bad happens, or when Stan eventually realises - as is inevitable - that it's Rick who isn't worth it? 

Except it wasn't even Stan who mentioned commitment at all - it was Rick. What kinda Freudian shit is this? Stan may not want to commit to him either, because Rick certainly doesn't! They haven't been together anywhere near long enough for that. Yet he knows Stan's deepest fears and if he was any drunker, Stan would know his. 

Skinny love doesn't work when one of them is thick. Mentally and well, physically. 

All Rick can do is hope Stan doesn't take him up on his offer. An offer he doesn't know why he made. Except that's an unresolved issue and Rick doesn't do well with those. He has to figure it out, it's imperative that he does. Domestic life? Not something Rick is cut out for. His mission in life, he one drive that feels innate but that he knows is the manifestation of interconnected social pressures, is to run. Run from everything, including himself. 

Rick climbs onto the roof of the shack, forcing concentration. But he can't be that drunk, he managed to climb onto the roof after all. The coffee shop doesn't open for a few hours, and it can't open until Stan wakes up anyway. When he does, Rick won't be here. He can't let himself be here. 

There's no other way this can go. 

Rick clambers down and walks through the town. It's a lot more scenic at night, and even more when you actually experience it rather than just observe it from the hill. Flat, grey concrete shouldn't be this beautiful.

Teenagers hang out by one of the corners, Rick checks the time. 1 am. What the fuck? How neglectful are the parents in this town? Just like his, it seems. Thankfully it isn't the ones from earlier, but a more alternative group. Rick's kind of people. 

He walks up to them, thankful his age remains ambiguous. Teens think people in their twenties are old, don't they? 

"You-You guys want some booze?" He slips into their group, grinning against the night. The whites of his teeth sparkle like stars. 

"You don't get carded? Awesome!" they fill Rick's hand with a melee of random coins and ask for the most they can get with it. They want to get the drunkest possible - something Rick understands. 

He buys them alcohol - not enough to get them drunk, just because they didn't have enough cash - and they head into the dark undergrowth. They talk, and Rick discovers there are often many more layers to people than first impressions suggest. One has some intense trauma, another isn't allowed to see their mother, another is a recovered anorexic. The last, the daughter of immigrants who are so strict they punished her for self-harming. 

"And what's your story?" 

Does he even have one? These people seem a lot more interesting than he does. Rick has stuff going on internally, but in terms of his circumstances, his life is mundane.

Domestic. Rick fucking hates the domestic. 

"I-I have a lot of anxiety, I... s-sorry, I gotta go,"

Rick tears through the forest, eventually reaching Fiddleford's doorstep. His subconscious must've remembered the way. He knocks on the door, expecting an answer only when the peephole shadows over. 

"I-It's Rick, can I come in?" Rick asks, awkwardly shuffling his feet on the doorstep.

The door clicks open, revealing Fiddleford in a dressing gown. "Rick, why are you here? Are you drunk?"

"I-I can't be S-Sixer... but I can help you bring him back. Can we - can we do that?" Ford is all that ties him to this town. If he finds Ford, he can finally move on; guiltlessly. 

He pushes past Fiddleford into the latter's house before collapsing onto the couch. The plain white ceiling spirals - how is that possible? - into darkness.

* 

Stan wakes up, eyes stinging as the morning light penetrates them. He covers his face with his arm. "Rick?" standing, the blanket falls from his shoulders. He stumbles around, knocking into a table. He finds his phone, blindly texting who he hopes is Rick. The big red banner exclaims _ 'Not Delivered' _. 

"Sssshhhh- where the fuck is he?!" Stan worries, beginning to search the house for any explanation as to Rick's disappearance. 

Stan searches the shack to find the sobering discovery of nothing. He struggles onto the roof, eyes landing on the lone vodka bottle sitting in the drain. Rick is light, but no way Stan will be able to get down there to fetch the bottle without falling through. His mind descends into the strangest, most terrifying possibilities. 

Rick is vulnerable anyway, but Rick lost in an unfamiliar, small town while drunk after what happened yesterday... Stan doesn't bear to think. _ The foolish dick must've got himself lost. _That's all he can let himself consider. Nothing worse could have happened. Rick is too smart for that, he can take care of himself - he hopes. 

Stan skirts around the town frenetically, asking anyone he meets if they've seen Rick with an exasperated tone. A group of teens hang out by the town hall, looking _ rough _. It can't hurt to ask them, so he shows a picture of Rick on his phone. "Long shot, but any of you guys seen this dude?" 

One of the kids, whom Stan recognises from yesterday, squirms in discomfort. 

"Yeah, we met him last night. Can't remember the time, but definitely post-midnight," he answers politely. 

"Where'd you last see him?" Exasperation becomes exhilaration - he has a lead! He feels like Sherlock Holmes. 

"The forest, I think..." he looks at the ground. "Look, about yesterday - I'm sorry. I have some really shitty friends and they were just joking around," 

Stan frowns deeply. "Thanks, I appreciate it. Maybe hang out with these guys instead," he gestures to the alternative kids Dan is with right now. 

Stan heads to the forest and for a while, feels lost. The shadows are too dark, the trees so thick he can't see the sun. He is insignificant. If Rick got lost here, drunk in the dark...

Laughter reverberates around him. It echoes through the forest, a welcome sound. He rushes towards it, giving it the same divinity as the light at the end of the tunnel. He emerges into the backyard of Fiddleford's house, finding he and Rick sitting outside of the veranda, talking and laughing on the bench. 

He stomps over, grabbing Rick's hair and dragging him up. "What the fuck!" 

Fiddleford watches in horror while he knocks Rick around and into the wall. "You scared me shitless!" 

Stan lets Rick go and he falls on the floor, coughing and spluttering.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Stan demands, his face tinted scarlet with rage. 

"L-Lee... I got drunk, I came to talk to Fiddleford, I..." Rick's voice s a quiet whimper. "I-I don't - why are you so angry?" his voice quivers. He stays on the floor; his body too heavy to lift. 

Stan stares down at him and sighs. He kneels down, looking into tearful, panicked eyes with tears brimming in his own. "I was worried about ya. I didn't mean to scare ya... I mean, I'm sorry,"

"L-let's just go home," Rick decides, refusing Stan's hand as they walk. After asking Fiddleford to come by later to work on the portal, he follows Stan into the forest again. 

Once enveloped in darkness once again, Stan exhales deeply.

"What I just did... is something that my father would do," But with a lot less punching. And a lot less screaming. 

"I-I'm s-s-sorry I scared you," Rick gulps down a knot of anxiety. "Is-Is this our f-first real fi-fight?" 

"I guess," Stan stares at the ground, the only part of it he can see. "You should've taken your phone,"

"Y-Yeah, sorry, I was so-so drunk," Rick chuckles. 

"But what I just did... I'm a horrible person," Stan shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what came over him, what strange force possessed him to the point of being unable to control himself. "I can't do that to you - to anyone. That's not the kind of person I am," 

Boldly, Rick takes Stan's hand and squeezes it in his own. "You are who you are,"

Stan grots his teeth in frustration, letting go of Rick's hand so he doesn't crush it in his grip. He doesn't want Rick's reassurances - he wants to erase the second his hand grabbed Rick. He can't even say he decided to do it. If he had decided for himself, he wouldn't have hurt Rick. He wouldn't have because he cares about him too much.

Ricks turns the sign for the coffee shop to read _ 'Open'. _

"Grab- Grab an apron, we're in time for the lunch rush," Rick suggests, but Stan turns the sign around again. 

"We need to talk about what happened, you can't just pretend I didn't just-" 

"I-I told you, it's fine," Rick holds his hands up in surrender. "You shouldn't have hit me, y-you're right. What good does-does an apology do?" 

Stan pauses for a second. Rick's right. It doesn't do any good, does it? 

"Do ya forgive me though?" he asks, hopeful but not optimistic. 

"Can- can you show me you won't do that again?" Rick looks up at him, face blank. 

"Can you show me you won't get drunk and wander off again, scaring me to death?" Stan's clenched fists wave around in emphasis.

"That-That isn't what we're talking about. I-I am... I am saying I'm sorry. I'm saying I won't do it again - and I'll try my best not to," 

"And I'm saying the same about what I did," 

Rick shakes his head, starting the coffee machine to drown out his thoughts in its grinding. "I-It's not the same thing," 

"I -" he doesn't know where he's going with this. It isn't the same thing. "Then you don't forgive me?" 

Stan is fully aware of how shitty that sounds. Caring more about whether he's forgiven than what he did to Rick. He just doesn't know how to resolve this otherwise. 

"J-Just - don't h-hurt me again okay?" Rick throws down the metaphorical towel and walks off, down to the lair where the portal is. In a few moments, Stan hears the screeching of a saw and other sci-fi noises. 

He turns the sign around again, totally unprepared to run the shop by himself for the afternoon. 

A few hours later, Fiddleford arrives. Conversations at the tables lower to a hushed murmur, weirding Stan out. He freezes mid-step as if he's been caught. 

"Uh, hi," Stan gives him a nod. "Rick's downstairs," 

Fiddleford nods and stops for a second. "Rick's in love with you,"

Stan drops the coffee he's holding, the cup he was holding shattering on the floor. Love. Rick is in love with him. He can't say that to himself enough time to make himself believe it. Rick has made his stance on love_ very _clear. "Also, for lying, you can't copy my homework for a month."

Fiddleford whimpers, feeling suddenly exposed. "I- I said something wrong, didn't I?" 

He runs downstairs to the portal, terrified of the fury he just unleashed. 


	8. Breakthrough

The smoky fade of moonlight beams into the bedroom, illuminating Rick. Stan notices that the moonlight makes him blonde, every shadow stark and dynamic, carving out caverns in his cheekbones. His face is replaced by a joint, Stan looks past it, to the clarity of Rick. He grins knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows with devious intent.

"No thanks," he knows it's morally dubious to drug Rick, but he has to get to the bottom of what Fiddleford said without all the deflection.

"So Rick, uh... what are we exactly?"

"S-Since when are you such a phil-philosophosiser?" Rick squints suspiciously, looking Stan up and down.

Stan hesitates. Dealing with the smartest man in the world, possibly in the multiverse, how is he meant to trick Rick?_ I'm a conman, that's how! _

The one thing he's good at is talking people into things, better exercise his only talent. "You're such a nerd, stop overthinking! If you told me what you're thinking sometimes... I don' know, I guess I wouldn't be so worried all the time,"

"Y-You worry about me?" His lazy jubilance doesn't change. "That's gaaayyy!"

Stan sighs, sitting up against the pillow. He thinks, trying it for the first time in a while. Rick is drowning in his overthinking, constantly. So it's only fair that Stan subjects himself to it too, once in a while. Despite his setbacks, Rick has the potential to go farther than anyone ever has. Beyond the stars, But Stan knows he'll go even farther, beyond this dimension and to a different reality. He'll leave. The worst thing about overthinking is thinking about the inevitable expiration date on Stan's relationship with Rick.

If Rick does love him, it's better he never knows. Then he won't be disappointed when Rick leaves him behind, just like Ford did.

"I guess it is," he shrugs, taking the final drag before crushing the joint against the windowsill. The ashes blow out in the wind. "But we never talk 'bout shit, it makes me wonder about ya. About us, where we're going, what you want, how ya think about me. This shit's valid, Rick!"

"Wh-Where I wanna go?" It's the one thing Rick hasn't thought about.

Rick turns over, gripping the pillow and burying his face into it. He pauses, thinking deeply. He never thought Stan could ask him a question he can't answer. It makes Stan's cheek flush with endearing warmth.

"I wan- wanna go beyond, Stan. Beyond everything. I-I wanna fucking transcend!" he declares with elated grandeur.

Stan stops his train of thought. His smile, the colour, the very life drains from his face. Rick wants to transcend, and Stan knows he's capable of that. Stan also know that he, himself, is not. And he's going to be left behind.

"W-With you,"

Stan jerks from his nihilistic thought. "Huh?"

"W-With you, of course. I wanna trav-travel with you," Rick elaborates with the same dreamy voice. "Take you with me... with me to explore it all,"

"I ain't smart, Rick," he scoffs flippantly.

"W-What does that matter?!" Rick demands with incredulity. No ignorance, no condescension. "I-I wanna be with you and you wanna be with me. We-we're together cause we lo-like each other! Being smart has jack shit to do with it,"

"But Rick, surely it's gotta matter!"

"Why Huh, wh-why should it?"

_Because it always mattered with Ford._ "I-I mean-"

Stan speaks without confidence for the first time in a long time.

"Well, we can't do the same stuff, Rick. Exploration is your thing, my thing is..." _Down here. A lame existence down here. _

"Wh-Who cares?! As long as we're together and fucking shit up, who cares?!" and suddenly Rick has a terrible, awful epiphany. "Being together isn't that important to you... is it?"

"What?! Of course it is!" Stan realises, with crushing defeat, that Rick has the same insecurity he does. Of course left behind, of not being good enough.

He starts laughing. It's all he can do.

"Rick, you dumb shit!" he claps Rick on the back, making him jump. "This is what you've been worried about? I ain't ever gonna leave ya,"

Rick sits up, staring at him in irritation. "N-No I haven't! But for one second... what are you-you talking about?"

"I'm never gonna leave ya, I don't care what happens. My dream was to find something worth living for. I thought it was adventure, and it still is... adventure with you,"

"Hah!" Rick points, laughing his ass off in his high. "Soooo fuck-fuckin' gay,"

Stan glares at him, watching the smile slide off his face.

"N-No, seriously. Th-Thank you, I wanna go with you forever,"

"Do me a favour though Rick?"

"Mhmm, yeah?" his face crashes onto the pillow.

"Tell me this shit when you think about it. Don't get drunk or high or some shit and expect it to all go away," Stan asks without a question. He sighs, sadly watching as Rick plummets into melancholy sleep. The alcohol disturbs him, the drugs disturb him. It's Rick who wants to get drunk or high every night, just taking him along for the ride. He'd do anything for Rick, does that means getting him help for a problem he might not even have?

There'll be time for that once they rescue Ford. And now, Stan knows Rick's taking him with him! That's more love than he thought Rick was ever capable of. Meaning Rick really does love him.

Is_ in love _with him.

*

He draws his hands across the blueprints. It looks like he's concentrated on a singular spot. In reality, his brain is clouded by fog and he sees nothing deeper than miscellaneous white froth coating a blue sea.

"Well, what are you thinking?" Fiddleford asks, ripping Rick from his thoughts.

"Thinking? Oh, uh... we need to work out timeframes for each dimensions. If time works differently in each, we could stay two seconds in one and return to... well, the end of our own world,"

"In that case, we need to invent something, or do something to the portal that regulates time. We can spend years in one dimension, and have no time pass at all!"

Rick watches Fiddleford, feeling uneasy when he's like this. The man has too much ambition, and he's becoming more highly strung by the minute. Exasperated, neurotic with twitching eyes. He needs to chill the fuck out.

But Rick knows he can't chill out. His best friend - only friend - is gone, and he's stuck in a place where everyone not only judges, but actively despises him. Losing Ford, or Sixer, means he lost everything. And Rick intends to fix that. But for the time being, what can he do but show Fiddleford he's making his best efforts?

"Why-Why don't we just regulate ourselves?" Rick asks, pondering his own theory. "As in, something about o-our own biology that regulates our time to the same amount of time passed here, but we can still experience the dimension in its own real time?"

"That's... brilliant!" Fiddleford agrees, rushing to the whiteboard and scribbling on it in ineligible markers.

Rick leans back in his chair, watching happily as Fiddleford draws out some schematics for such an amendment to the portal. Work is meditative for him, Rick realises, no matter how neurotic he looks.

"I have something!" Fiddleford spins around, revealing his plans, "Can you build it? When can you have it ready by?"

He's impatient, inevitably. "L-Let's get started now,"

Fiddleford leans back in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "You want me to help?"

"I-It'll get done quicker if-if both of us work on it, right?" Rick furrows his brow, wondering why this is so surprising. If he wants it done as quickly as possible, why wouldn't he want to help?

"It's just... Sixer didn't ask me for this kind of stuff. I just drew the schematics, planned stuff. The real innovation was all him," he rubs the back of his neck, laughing nervously. "I'm more of a robotics guy anyway,"

And that's it: the power dynamic Rick knows must have existed. Ford was the driving force behind everything. Every discovery every development, and Fiddleford was just the assistant. Even though he's much more pleasant to work for than Ford ever was at university.

"I don't give a fuck what F - Sixer did with you. I need help with this, and I trust you not to fu-fuck it up. Gotta trtust-trust yourself more, you can do this shit!" Rick gestures wildly to the flabbergasted man before him, who watches in a haze of disbelief.

Fiddleford drags a deep breath, blowing it out to hide sigh. But the sigh slips into a smile. He grabs some tools, feeling them in his hand, for the first time in a long time. "Yeah, let's build this fucking thing!"

"N-Now you're speaking -my language..." hastily, he sets everything out on the table, without the first clue where to start. He buzzes with anticipation, red to advance himself and his dreams. Ready to explore another universe.

*

Stan finishes wiping down the bar when he hears a clattering from the basement and what he dubs 'sci-fi noises'. Then suddenly Rick appears at the secret door to the basement with stars in his eyes.

Stan looks up, just in time to see the smile explode on Rick's face. He rushes up to Stan, grabbing him in a passionate embrace, feeling sturdy muscles beneath his bony fingers.

"You made a breakthrough, didn't ya?"

Rick stares at the man he loves for a few wonderful seconds before enveloping his arms around him, intending to never let go. "C-Come down to the lab. Y-you're gonna wanna see this,"

They descend to the room Stan remembers with a shudder. The light disorientates him, Ford appearing before his eyes wearing that look of sheer panic. Stan grips Rick's hand tighter for comfort, having hoped he'd never have to come down here again. His eyes land on the portal which was once blue and is now green.

"Watch this!" Rick instruct with glee, tossing an apple into the void.

Stan watches it be swallowed up in amazement. "Where'd it go?!"

A dial sits by the portal, two of its blinking green lights now red. "That's where the apple is," Fiddleford points to one. "And that's where your brother is,"

He wants to congratulate them but he can't. This doesn't mean they can bring Ford back.

Rick shares a grin with Fiddleford, dragging out the suspense.

"Aaand!" He presses a button and the apple pops back into existence.

"Holy shit, Rick! You mastered teleportation!" Stan grips his hair, unable to believe what he sees. Not that he didn't think of anyone could do it, it'd be Rick, but still.

"Don-Don't look so surprised," he grins, clapping Fiddleford on the back and making him jump. "We-We are geniuses,"

"The next step is to control which dimension we go to! But at least now we know we are capable of travel,"

Stan looks at Rick; beaming with pride, achievement, love. Even if they haven't found Ford yet, seeing Rick so happy is worth all of this.

."We gotta celebrate, Rick!"

"I-I don't know..." he rubs his head, reluctant. "We got a lot of work to do..."

"Aww c'mon hun, you've been working all week. You deserve it!"

"Y-Yeah... okay" Rick grins, pulling him closely again with a short, yet intense, kiss. "J-Just gotta walk Fiddle-stick here home,"

"It's fine!" Fiddleford reaches up, dismissing him. "I'll get the bus,"

"Y-You sure?" Rick frowns worriedly. "It isn't any trouble to walk you,"

"I'm sure!" Fiddleford answers quickly, collecting his things and running upstairs.

"Huh," Rick jerks around to talk to Stan, but finds his partner's lips pressed against his.

He pulls away. "Gah! Y-You tricked me!"

Stan pouts mockingly. "Aww, did I scare ya?"

"Sh-Shut up," Rick stammers, sitting atop his desk and pushes away some of the papers, so Stan can sit beside him.

"S-So what were you thinking - for the cel-cel-cel-"

"Celebration," he slides his hand across Rick's thigh.

Rick gulps, too preoccupied by Stan's movements to think. The hand inches closer to his crotch before Rick hops up from the table.

"H-Hey, le's go to a bar... or just stay here, blankets, TV, yeah..."

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" Stan follows him, more worried by the moment. They've fooled around before, what's wrong this time? Rick isn't one to react like this to... well, anything.

Entering the coffee shop again, Rick sits at a random table, staring out into the black void of a street. Stan sits opposite him, trying to force eye contact Rick incessantly avoids.

"I-I'm too preoccupied with work, I'm in my own head too much. I wouldn't be able to feel pleasure,"

Stan sighs, partly in relief and partly in frustration. Rick's still keeping things from him. "Why didn't ya say something? I wouldn't've done anything if you just said. I'm sorry for coming on too strong,"

"I'm not-not good with the whole 'emotional' thing,"

"Yet you're the most emo bastard I know," Stan chuckles.

Stan slowly eases his hand across the table, taking Rick's in it. He bends over the table, kissing him softly, without passion this time.

"But Rick, what di we say about talking to me when you feel shit?"

"I'm t-trying, I just don't - I'm not good at it,"

"For a smart guy, you sure have one fixed mindset. You _can be_ good at it, man. You're doin' great already, but you can try and you can get better,"

"I- I haven't had anyone b-believe in me as much as you,"

A few moments pass until Stan chuckles, shaking his head. "Rick, you have no idea how much I think of you. You're the smartest man in the world - the fucking universe! Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you were a God,"

"A-A god?" Rick nearly bursts out laughing, bit is filled with a different desire. Knowing that Stan looks at him this way fills him with the desire to be that person. To make him proud. And the first step to becoming that person is to find Ford.

That's how instead of celebrating, Rick spends the night in solitude downstairs, perfecting his inventions.

"Rick, please come to bed," Stan wraps his arms around Rick waist, kissing his nape. "It's after midnight,"

Rick scribbles faster, pen scratching on the starchy paper.

"I- I have to do this," Rick looks up at him, eyes black and encased in deep, black caverns.

Stan scrapes a chair on its back legs, sitting on it backwards. "Well, I'll be here with you," He laughs at the shock drawn on Rick's face. "I won't speak, won't move. I'll just be here with ya, and for ya,"

Some hours later, Stan lifts his head from the table, crinkling the papers than had been his pillow. Rick is hunched over his work, face planted on the harsh wood. He silently, gently, picks up Rick and carries him to the bedroom, smiling at the redness of his nose form when he fell asleep on the uncomfortable table.

"Hmmm?" Rick stirs in sleep.

"Sssh hun," Stan strokes his hair, twirling the ever-growing locks between his fingers. "You just sleep, it'll be all okay in the morning,"

Rick looks beautiful in his sleep. Peaceful. The total opposite of when he's awake. It feels nice, and strangely romantic. He kisses Rick's forehead, ensuring he isn't disturbed.

*

"Ugh, fucking exhausted," Rick groans, wiping his face with his hands, rubbing the dream from his eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Stan appears at the door with a plate of pancakes doused in butter and syrup.

"Breakfast?" Rick quirks his eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

Stan cuddles up to Rick, careful not to let the pancakes fall "You made a breakthrough last night. Today, we get a holiday,"

Rick wriggles away from him. "W-what? I have work to do! A-And Fiddle-stick!"

"I called Fiddleford, told him not ta show up," Stan embraces Rick's childish glare. "I know you're mad at me and I don't care. Eat your damn pancakes, you're relaxing today,"

Rick stares at the pancakes with disdain. But he can't resist picking one up on his fork. "I'll eat the damn pancakes, but I'm still mad,"

Stan smirks. "I'm okay with that,"

Rick scoffs, finishing his pancakes with the same spiteful glare. It doesn't bother Stan, it never has. He knew who he was picking as a partner: his petty bastard.

"There, h-happy?" Rick holds up the empty plate.

"Very,"

"Great, you can help me in the shop today," " Stan jumps up, beginning to strip his pyjamas and dress.

Rick crashes back onto his pillow. "Wh-What happened to relaxing?!"

*

"I-I'll take a golden honey glazed macchiato with almond milk and c-cream," Rick grins, stretching across the coffee shop bar. Stan wipes down a glass.

"Comin' right up, love!"

Rick turns around, observing the other patrons. They drink happily, both the regulars and casual tourists of this rural town. He ponders that what this place needs is a tourist trap. It doesn't have one and it'd do real well here.

The very drink he ordered appears by his hand. "Th-Thanks love,"

"Hm," Stan rolls his eyes irritably. Rick feels a little sorry for him, walking behind the bar again and taking orders to help.

"Yeah... do you do matcha infused lattes?" asks the very clear tourist.

He scowls deeply. "No,"

Stan squeezes his butt from behind. "Be nice," he whispers.

Rick sighs deeply, making her an ordinary matcha tea instead. He hands it over and she pays, giving a total, of zero-dollars tip.

"F-Fuckin' bitch!" he yells out the door to the large tourist coach.

"What the fuck, Rick?!" Stan bumps him on the arm. Rick looks out, realising the other patrons are staring at him, unused to hearing such language in a small town.

"I... I-I-... Sorry, everyone," he mumbles out, nervously.

They close early, at 1600 hours. The rest of the day is their, and Rick's eyes flit towards the underground.

Stan sighs disappointed that his efforts haven't served to distract Rick.

"We could go to a bar if you want?" he offers.

Rick falters. "I um, can we just drink here?"

Stan had wanted to avoid getting drunk altogether. Is that the only way Rick can experience happiness? But he only gets sadder the more inebriated he is.

"Well, let's go dancing,"

"D-Dancing?"

"You can dance, right" Stan asks, wiggling his eyebrows with a smirk.

"I-I can, but..."

"Not in front of other people," Stan nods. "We can do that. Let's go to the hill!"

They stand on the hill, staring over the lights of the town. Those lights glow into the sky, dotted around as beacons to lead them home. Stan's arms wraps around Rick's waist and they sway their hips to the slow tunes playing from Stan's phone. He hums gently, they both do. Unable to resist the charm of the music.

"S-Stan?" Rick looks into his eyes. "Th-Thank you for today,"

Stan chokes back tears, touched by his partner. "What am I gonna do with you, huh? You gotta start listenin ' to me,"

"Th-That shit's hard for me,"

Stan laughs, spinning them around at a peak of the song's beat. "Me too, Rick. I got so many walls around me..."

"We-We'll figure it out. We always do, we built all this shit from nothing!" he can't see their little coffee shop from here, hidden among the trees, but he knows it's there.

Before Stan can answer, Rick kisses him, more passionately than they kissed before. It's a long time before they come up or air.

"Stan? I-I don't feel so distracted anymore,"

"Is that right?" Stan crashes them to the ground, rolling them under nearby tree cover. "Well, then I better work quickly. Will five minutes do it?"

"F-Five? I-I thought you were ambitious..."

"Eat those words, Sanchez!"

Stan rips open the button on Rick's jeans, sliding them down his stick-figure thighs. His boxers too. He looks majestic, lying on the black grass like this, and also wonderfully fragile and vulnerable. Rick, in this context, has the confidence to show his vulnerabilities.

It makes his heart swell with pride.

_You're my human. _Stan smiles, reaching down to caress Rick's person. _And I'm so lucky to have you._


	9. What the Squanch?

It was Stan's idea, but he never expected Rick to take him seriously. He failed to recognise that Rick takes nothing seriously, and therefore takes everything seriously. Both know it's mad, but neither are willing to admit how terrified they are at the prospect of Stan accompanying him to the farthest alcoves of the multiverse. Fiddleford can't, even now that they've sorted the time issues. He's on too much medication for his biology to remain stable during the trip. 

Stan felt the only option was to offer his company, despite Rick's assurances that he could "T-Totally h-hack it on my-my own..." Spoken with crestfallen worry. Once Stan's arms wrapped around him, Rick had no objections.

In his hangover, Rick tumbles down from the bedroom to the main coffee shop, slamming his body onto the desk. The chairs blur and fade before his eyes until his head slams on the desk. "Black coffee?" Stan grins, firing up the machine. "And you need a breakfast bagel," 

"N-Noooo, no cheese. P-P- gonna puke, babe," He did everything he could to minimize his drunkenness, even though this is the whole point of overdrinking. Clumsily, he pulls out his phone and googles_ 'How to sober up'_ but the results suck. 

Meanwhile, Stan is paranoidly googling _'Symptoms of alcohol poisoning and what to do'_ and squinting at Rick. 

Rick finishes his coffee at lighting speed, probably hungover and in need of hydration. "L-Le's go!" he slams the cup back down. "Ffff-F-Fiddlesticks' coverin' the ssshhhop right?" 

Hardly anyone would shop there, which is fine by Rick, and Stan won't even know. He's just happy Fiddleford is willing to cover in exchange for making the scientific discovery of... ever. 

Figuring out what equipment to bring was difficult. The most obvious is a gun. Rick equips himself with guns since he's a good aim even when inebriated. Stan chooses knives, cause he's terrible with guns and knives are less likely to cause an accident. He's less than thrilled about being the damsel protected by his skinny, softie drunk boyfriend - but he doesn't have much choice. 

Standing before the portal feels less like walking through beyond the edge of the universe and more like from the coffee shop to their bedroom. Spending every day staring at the swirling mass has cheapened its imperial authority. "F-Fuck you, portal!" Rick gives it the finger for the last time. 

"Don't piss off the portal!" Stan gasps in offence. 

"Pffft, it ain't co-control me!" 

Stan grabs his hand. They sigh, and step through with a breath so deep, they know it may be their last. 

*

Light and darkness are no longer separate. They combine, and the darkness is swallowed by the light. There is only light, and for a moment Stan thinks he really did die._ Impossible,_ he realises. _I wouldn't be in heaven. _

Rick face appears in the white light, then his hands. He pulls Stan into a crushing hug, dragging him off his feet. 

"W-We did it," he whispers, squeezing Stan even tighter. "It worked. W-We aren't in the universe anymore," 

Stan looks into the abyss, gobsmacked. "Why is it all so...?" 

"Wh-White?" Rick grins. "Come- Come with me," 

He takes Stan gently by the hand, walking back in the direction he came. White melts into colour, and a scene of saturated blues and purples assaults his eyes. 

"Gah!" Stan pulls away, shielding his eyes. "Damn, someone turn the lights down," 

The colours desaturate, and a haze of darkness consumes their pigment. It's easier to watch now, and feels more cool, like nighttime in a tropical area. Strange fairy lights flutter around them, fireflies landing on their clothes, yet floating off without mass when Stan slaps them. 

"Hah!" Rick points mockingly. "Y-You jus' slapped your arms!" 

"What are these things?" Stan turns over his palm, observing the sentient fairy light clinging to it. 

"I-I have no- no idea..." Rick looks around with the same childish innocence Stan looks at basically everything. Then he looks at Stan. "I-Isn't that great? But this is clearly a light dimension... it plays around with the brain and adjusts the scenery accordingly. Probably has some environmental sensors... maybe just audio transmissions..." 

"Is Ford here?" 

"N-No, this is jus' the next door dimension... call it-call it C-138," 

"Huh, why C- blah blah?" 

"C-Cause ours is C-137. So-so I'm Rick C-137 and y-you're Stan C-137. C-Cause that's the order they came up on the monitor," 

"Right..." he has no idea hat that means, but he trusts Rick. 

"We-We should head back... we've done what we came to do," Rick decides, his tone noticeably more sombre. 

Stan knows why. They can only breathe little easier once they're back in their own dimension and nothing has changed. Hell, that it even still exists. That time hasn't passed at ten million times their rate and the Earth has been consumed by the sun. Or that the portal hasn't fried itself up on the other end. A lot of things could have happened. Rick's reaction is incredulously causal for the average person. 

It's still weird to see him rattled at all. 

"Yeah, let's go back. Fiddleford must be waiting for us," Stan replies, optimistic tone betraying the worry in his eyes. He holds out his hand for Rick to take. 

Rick sneers at him, but accepts his offer, taking the hand. 

The white world is swallowed in he portal's ocean, before plunging into the depths of blackness. But the darkness is more defined this time, illuminated by the light of the portal now standing tall behind them. They see the desk, the equipment and most welcomingly, the staircase to the coffee shop. 

"Yyyyyyeeeeeeessss!" Rick screams to the heavens. Stan laughs when he starts a ridiculous dance, anxiety evaporated. "Suck it, interdimensional vortex!" 

"Ugh, ugh! Science rules, bitch! Fuck you laws of the universe, fuck you Backupsmore professor!" Rick grunts between pelvic thrusts in this insane expression of ecstasy. 

Stan sighs in relief, chuckling just to release the breath he didn't know he was holding. A breath that burned his throat. Finally, rescuing Ford feels like a reachable goal. 

Fiddleford hugs them when he sees them, ignoring the now irate customer. He erupts in a barrage of questions, kicking everyone out and sitting at one of the tables with the others. Just as excitedly, Rick and Stan tell their story. 

"That's amazing! I'd have loved some samples... next time perhaps. Hey, have you inspected the portal yet?" 

Rick snaps his fingers, suddenly remembering. "We have not," 

Submerging themselves in the underground laboratory once again, the first thing they notice is something they should have noticed upon return. Rick wanders up to it slowly, taking one cautious step after the other, unable to hold back his curiosity. 

"Uh... was-was it always that c-colour?" he asks aloud, turning back to the other 2 who nod their heads.

"Careful!" warns Fiddleford when Rick presses his hand into the glowing ring of acid green. 

Rick pulls his hand back, staring at the coloured light now fading from his skin. 

"S-Still works... works real good..."

"Why has the colour changed? A difference in the chemical composition!" He rushes to take samples. 

Rick frowns, watching Fiddleford bottle the portal into vials. "Hey, if we can bottle that stuff, can we..."

Fiddleford and Stan stare at him, dumbfounded. Waiting for Rick's inevitable epiphany. 

"W-Wait just one sec..." he strides over to the whiteboard and starts writing. 

Fiddleford and Stan exchange dumbfounded glances. Even when Fiddleford understands the science, Rick takes his equations beyond the realms of his understanding. His physics is scattered with biology, and perhaps some chemistry. After exploring the science of wormholes and black holes for a while, Rick suddenly drops his chalk. 

"I got it! I-I fucking got it!"

"Whaddaya got, huh?" Stan can't hep but get excited. 

Rick's hand is outstretched, lazy but inviting. "F-Fiddlestick, hand me some parts!" he sits down at his desk. 

"Which parts?" Fiddleford looks at the piles of debris, tools, lab equipment. 

"Fucking all of them!" Rick demands, and gets to work sketching. 

"What do you think it is?" Stan whispers to Fiddleford when he returns. The men observe the flustered scientist passively. Rick draws with hurried movements, labelling everything in inscrutable letters. They can't help dissociate with admiration of his passion, as if their own time runs slower than his, for the sole purpose of this spectacle of discovery. 

Fiddleford shrugs. "I was hoping you'd know," 

Rick writes. He creates, he develops. Eventually, with a deep groan of relief and exhaustion, like a man ending his intensive, workout, Rick drops his pen with a clatter onto the floor. It jolts Stan and Fiddleford awake. 

"Huh, what?" Rick's boyfriend rubs sleep from his eyes. "Sss goin' on?" 

Books and papers clatter while Rick clears a space on the desk, rolling out his blueprints. "It depends on the properties of the portal of course, but if we can harness that energy, we can make it act like a wormhole, but one we can control the flow and direction of," 

Rick explains haggardly. The others get on their hands and knees, squinting at the diagram and mathematics alongside it. 

"Ah, so it's like a device that can harness great quantities of energy, keeping it at bay until it can be released. Therefore, you can control both the speed, power, directional flow... essentially, you have a device that can create and distribute pathways to other dimensions!" Fiddleford's eyes widen larger than his circular glasses. "It's genius!" 

"I-Isn't it just," Rick chuckles. "And- and once I've perfected it, we can set it to specific dimensions as well, meaning we can hop between them without returning here!"

"Hey, Rick," 

"Y-Yeah?" Rick looks at his boyfriend. 

"I- I don't understand all this, but does that mean we can find my brother faster?"

Stan looks at Rick with a kind of childish hope. 

"Y-Yeah," he smiles. "That's exactly what it means," 

*

The device is ready quicker than they expected, still to be field-tested of course. Frustratingly, the most difficult developmental step in the invention seems to be coming up with a catchy name for it. 

"The Worm Generator!" Fiddleford insists. 

"That-That sounds like a cloning machine for worms! I-It should be called the Dimension-Hopper 3000!" 

"No offense, but you're both wrong," Stan smirks from his place at one of their coffee shop table. 

"Oh well y-you come up with a better name," Rick challenges, scowling with boiling, petty rage barely concealed under the surface. 

"A Portal Gun,"

Stan leans back after that behemoth of a mic drop.

"Fuck you," 

Stan smirks, the response confirming his infallible genius. Fiddleford storms off to field test the 'Portal gun'. Fiddleford kicks open the door to the underground lair and descends the stairs with stomping feet. 

"W-Woah, I think you pissed him off more than me with that name," Rick laughs as he writes _'Portal Gun_' at the top of the sheet. "B-But yeah, this is a great name!" 

Field testing is not a pleasant experience. Stan realises he knew nothing about science or experimentation, including the painstaking testing. Over and over again, they repeat the experiment. Stan watches them, groaning. "Come on, you know by now that it works!" 

"We need statistical certainty of its success," Fiddleford explains. "And ensure its results are replicable independent of extraneous variables," he sees how unimpressed the other is. 

"Do you want to be stuck in a dimension with no way to get home because all of a sudden, it turns out the portal gun doesn't work in non-carbon atmospheres?" 

"No," Stan mutters sulkily. It's not his fault he's impatient - that's his brother's life sitting in Rick's hand! The aforementioned man presses a button and a slit of glowing light breaks the barrier between dimensions. 

"T-Test Number 67 - m-matter by weight distribution," Rick recites into a small, handheld voice recorder. 

Stan grabs his phone and watches YouTube through earphones, Rick had asked for silence during their tests. But each second that passes is tedious. Everything has been _waiting_ recently, and he's tired of waiting. 

"Can we pleeease get this over with?!" he groans loud enough to reverberate the walls of the cavern. 

Fiddleford sighs. "I suppose we can neglect testing its compatibility with non-carbon lifeforms," 

Rick snorts thankfullly. "Yeah, b-both of us are carbon-based, not like we'd need it," 

Stan and Rick suit up. Proper NASA space suits - Stan doesn't wanna know where the fuck Rick got them. 

"Th-That's us," Rick takes a final shot of electric green spirits for good luck. 

He clicks the button and a portal opens, feeling anti-climactic in comparison to the imperial structure towering over them. And somehow, a green portal feels more friendly than a blue one. They traverse to the other side of the multiverse. The dimension the radar claimed Ford is trapped. 

"Shit," the second they arrive, Rick knows something is wrong. He checks his portal map. "It's-It's the wrong damn dimension," 

"What does that mean?" Stan ask, less-than confidently. 

"It-It just means we gotta hang here for a while until the gun recharges," he hasn't worked out all the kinks yet. "L-Let's go see what's goin' on," 

Rick takes off his helmet. "The atmosphere's fine, trust me," 

Stan removes his own. Rick is right, the air is fine here. Even if it smells a little lemony. 

They wander around, Rick taking samples of the surrounding flora. In the distance, a low rumbling sounds. 

"The Hell is that?" Stan asks, quaking with worry. 

"It's probably no- HIOLY SHIT!" Rick grabs Stan's arm. "Fucking run!" 

Stan looks back, at the horizon Rick is dragging him away from. A black shadow is expanding, growing larger as it follows them. Closer and closer. Is this the end?. Stan squeezes his eyes closed, anticipatory of the searing pain of his own tearing flesh as whatever that creature is devours him. 

But there is no pain, just a numb and eerily serene silence. 

"Who - _what _\- the squinch are you?" 


	10. The Concert

Rick fumbles in his jacket for a weapon. Stan finds his first, brandishing his knife.

The creature is small, much smaller than they remember before being knocked down. It looks like a ratty, talking cat with jaundice eyes and crumpled whiskers - an alley cat. Looking haggard, his own eyes scrutinise Stan and Rick, drilling into their minds to reveal their secrets. Rick is the first to speak up. "M-My name... Rick,"

He presses a hand to his chest, gesturing to himself. Then, he jerks his thumb at Stan.

"S-Stan," he states, voice quivering as they lie helpless below this creature.

The creature's bright grin reveals terrifyingly sharp, mangled teeth. "Well we got the who down, I still got no idea what in the squanch you are,"

He reaches down and wordlessly, absorbing in the chamber of his shock, Rick allows himself to be pulled up. Stan stands by himself, the knife still gripped tightly in his fist, but lowered.

"H-How can you un-understand me?" Rick asks himself more than the creature.

"Hey, you ain't even askin' what my squanch is?" He scoffs, offended. His mannerisms are those of a feral cat. "Well, it's Squanchy,"

"Nice ta meet ya..." Stan greets dreamily, in shock.

"I-I don't get this," Rick shakes his head. Confusion and frustration descends upon him. "How the f-fffffuck are you speaking English?"

"I'm not?" Squanchy gives Rick a strange look and answers him like a parent would a child. "I'm speaking Squanch, of the planet Squanch... the planet we're on,"

"Eh... right," he begins to explore the world around him, testing the ground underneath his fingers, the temperature and humidity. A dry planet, yet a colourful one.

"You aren't squanch here, are you?" Squanchy asks, continuing to watch Rick inspect the mundane so closely. What's he looking for?

"What gave it away?" Stan chuckles flippantly. "The fact we aren't overgrown mothballs or that we don't say squanch' every five seconds?"

"We-We're scientists, kinda," Rick explains before Squanchy can retort. "We're just here to learn, so uh... y-you can forget about eating us if that's cool,"

Squanchy watches Rick for a few seconds, contemplating the strange creatures. "Hey, wanna get some squanch or something?"

Rick and Stan exchange wary glances, but Rick nods. "S-Sure,"

Turns out in this context, 'squanch' means coffee. In this dimension, on this planet, there are coffee shops. Rick is floored, dissociating into every expectation he had of these worlds while they deteriorate with each new experience here. Stan and Squanchy have to drag him inside. It has the air of depravity. Of sex, madness, drugs, destruction. A poster hangs, half-ripped across the wall, its graphic reading in faded red and yellow hues, _Revolution_.

They sit at a table, Sqaunchy ordering for them in his evidently contextual language. Stan reaches for his coffee, but Rick stops him with his arm.

"W-We don't know if we can digest the stuff from this place," 

"We can breath the air and speak the language, can't we?"

Rick decides that if one of them has to die from alien coffee poisoning, it should be him. He downs a mouthful of the coffee, discovering its warm aroma and insanely strong, bitter caffeine boost. It makes him buck forward and erupt into a coughing fit.

Stan pats him on the back. "You good?"

Winking back tears in his eyes, Rick gives a weak thumbs-up.

"W-We good..." he croaks out.

Stan drinks the coffee, having quite the same reaction but with a more growling cough rather than a hacking one.

"So uh, you still haven't squanched my question,"

"Y-Yeah," Rick swallows more coffee, wishing it had something stronger in it. "We're humans, w-we're aliens, I guess you could call us,"

They wait for a reaction of thought, shock, a violent reaction as a human would make upon hearing such a thing. It never comes.

"Uh-huh, where you guys from?"

"You aren't uh..." Stan shares a look with Rick. "Weirded out, cause we're aliens?"

"Look around dude," Squanchy gestures grandly to the coffee shop and its patrons. Indeed, there are creatures of all shapes and sizes, skin colours, body types. Very clearly different species, speaking different languages. "We're real cool with aliens here,"

Rick and Stan share a smile, drinking more coffee at the same time. It feels silly to both of them, but they feel more at home here much quicker than they did in Gravity Falls. There's a sense of unconditional acceptance here and judging by the other patrons, it might be the case that they're quite reputable.

"It might not be my squanch to ask, but what are you guys doing here?"

There was _no way _any of them would pay him any attention.

"We-," Rick takes a final shot of coffee as if to settle his nerves. "We're experimenting, gathering samples an-an' shit,"

"We're looking for my brother," Stan reaches over and boldly grabs Rick's hand, squeezing the cold, bony object in his own, warm and soft. "He got lost in, in another dimension... and we don't know how... how..." 

It isn't often that Stan cries, even more rarely at something he himself says. Yet here he is, flooding the tiny napkin by his mug, and then the mug itself, with tears.

"We don' know how ta find him, he could be anywhere, anythin' coulda happened to him,"

Squanchy nods in a kind of manic stillness. As if a roaring gargoyle was captured in his most vicious moment and set in stone, safe and benign. He observes with the apathetic gaze only an alien could have, unable to relate to the problems of both Stan and Rick on the most basic level. Death, disease, pestilence has befallen his planet and species so many times, the fate of one alien being and his two counterparts is insignificant. Unworthy of reaction.

Squanchy realises that he's expected to say something. "Well, if you guys need any help, I'm happy to offer my squanch!"

Rick thinks for a moment. "H-Hey, do you know anything about-about interdimensional travel?"

It's worth a shot. And that shot pays off, as Squanchy nods thoughtfully. "Yeah... Yeah, I know a guy, but it'll likely cost ya!" He points to Rick hands.

"I'm not a-a fuckin' whore," Rick answers immediately, confusing Stan as to why his mind went there.

"Huh? No dude, your hands!" Squanchy recoils. "Your fingers are calloused, you squanch out don't cha?"

"Oh, uh..." Rick stares at his hands in relief. "Y-Yeah,"

"My buddy and I have a band and we need a lead guitar!" Squanchy explains, hyping himself up with each word. "Gotta warn you though, we're pretty hardcore!"

Rick and Stan share a look. Their eyes dance a passionate storyline, a conversation had in an instant. Stan's eyes light up and suddenly, he feels everything around him, like an oppressive vacuum of uncertainty.

"And- And if I do that, you'll teach me about interdimensional travel...?"

He reaches under the table, squeezing Stan's hand to be a supportive foundation. He knows, he sees the insecurities buried in the shallow grave of Stan's heart.

"Well actually... we gotta do that to get to the guy... and the band..."

*

Squanchy plays in a band in another dimension. In one, on his own planet, he functions like a normal... whatever he is. On the other, he plays in a fucking punk band. The idea, the life, is so alien to Rick. A thrilling curiosity that beckons him to its intrinsic freedom. Interdimensional travel is not negative liberty, the kind Rick has right now - the kind that makes him immune to authority. Interdimensional travel is positive liberty - the freedom to do whatever he wants unabated. And it proselytises Rick's salvation. 

This dimension is closer to the one Ford is trapped in, and it's different. Its colour scheme, air type, the sounds and smells and stimulants of reality are something entirely foreign. It Stan was to describe this world, he'd call it 'beige'.

Rick, Stan and Squanchy are tiny creatures compared to the features of this dimension. The circumference of trees are miles long, and they stretch hundreds of thousands and metres above the ground. Leaves the length of Rick flutter to the ground.

"The Hell is this place?" Rick looks around, craning his neck to the sky invisible behind the cover of trees, like a rainforest. Yet somehow, it's still light and the ochres of this world blind him with their vibrancy.

Squanchy stops suddenly, as do they. They listen in silence, not even breathing, and Rick identifies a strange humming above them. Looking up, a deep black shadow has appeared against the sunlight. The shadow grows and he realises it's falling, ripping Stan away from the shadow.

The shadow lands in the form of a seven-foot-tall creature, a strangely elegant creature worthy of ancient respect. The creature looks like a human-bird hybrid. Rick screams - because WHAT THE FUCK - and starts to scramble away towards a sheet of cover. He curls up, hiding underneath his arm for defence. A few seconds of silence pass until a terrible screeching fills the air, a white noise and his protective canopy is lifted. It's white, white noise and a blank sheet of white before his eyes.

Until the light fades, and instead a strange hybrid creature stands before him. Ten feet tall, he stares down at Rick from the side, between his beak-like nose. The most impressive feature about him, however, are his wings.

Wide a wingspan of twenty feet, they stretch wide across Rick's peripheral. He reaches down with a claw-like fist. "Please, allow me to help you up. It is not wise to lie on the floor for so long," 

Rick looks at Squanchy, who nods his approval. He takes the strange creature's hand and allows himself to be lifted to his feet. Dusting himself off, Rick stares into this creature's eyes. It's insane, but he feels a kinship with it, despite having nothing in common, even to do with species.

"Uh, I-I don't mean to be rude but uh... what are you?"

Squanchy shakes his head. "His species and name can't be pronounced in any language but his own. I jus' call him BirdPerson!"

Stan us laughing his ass off, making Rick seethe with embarrassment. How could he be so pathetic?!

"Sh-Shut up," he whines. "I-I ain't ever seen something like that!",

_"_Okay okay, I guess I'm just desensitised ta that shit by now. Spendin' time with you and all,"

Rick punches him lightly. BirdPerson watches, looking confused.

"Now guys, uh, I know ya might not like this, especially you..." Squanchy points to Rick.

"What are you-?"

Stan's question is cut short when he and Rick are swallowed in large arms, lifted from the ground into flight.

"Hope ya aren't scared of heights!" Squanchy calls.

Stan closes his eyes, Rick screams but can't resist overlooking this world from such a height. Trees like the one they stood under are dispersed along undergrowth, each seeming to have ownership of the land around them. The world is different chases of ochre, a dense forest in autumn. But Rick has the feeling it doesn't change, that it's always like this. It looks unhealthy, but maybe that's what is healthy for this world. He can't know until he asks questions.

They arrive and BidPerson dumps them on the floor of his treetop house. The walls are the innards of the tree, the floor made of soft hay.

"So Squanchy, what did you come to ask me about?" The bird asks.

"See skinny over here?" Squanchy gestures to Rick. "He's gonna squanch in our band, bro,"

"You're our new guitarist?" Birdperson gives Rick a look.

Rick nods affirmatively, brushing hay off his clothes. "A-As long as you guys have a guitar,"

Thankfully, they do. Stan watches them practice for the first time, laughing as Rock tries to understand alien sheet music.

The song begins, and while Stan can't understand the lyrics, he sees a pain behind them. Desperation, emptiness, a yearning for change on a macro-level... a universal level. As it ends, Rick does an interesting swoop of his guitar to end on an E-minor. Like the clanging church bell drawing the close on a funeral, it cracks the very air around them, like they're falling into yet another dimension.

His clapping cuts through the silence, making Rick blush slightly. He looks at his boyfriend as if to ask 'Was I good?' Stan claps and nods through tears.

"Wh-What do you think, am I a great player or WHAAAAT!" Rick sways his hips as if dancing, but settles again.

Squanchy and BirdPerson exchange looks. "Yeah, you're in!"

BirdPerson reaches out a hand to shake Rick's. "Welcome to the band, my friend,"

Sitting at the table too tall to feel comfortable at, Stan barely looks up when Rick sits opposite him. The others arrive and Rick bombards then with a barrage of questions. What goes on on this planet, what are the conditions like, the history?

BirdPerson tells a story of tragedy, ravaged by war and the imperialist 'Galactic Federation'. If there's something Rick hates more than anything, it's authoritarianism.

"We would like to fight back against the invasion," BirdPerson continues. "But the federation has technology and weapons, we simply wish to be left in peace,"

"I can help," Rick blurts out immediately, and all eyes turn to him with inscrutable expressions. "I-I'm a scientist, I can develop your tech... I can help, I want to,"

Stan looks at BirdPerson wearily. "If it's so bad here, Squanchy lives in a whole other dimension. Why can't you just leave?"

"My people would not want to leave their home, and I care too much to abandon them," BirdPerson answers, as if he's been asked before.

*

Their quarters for the night is an indoor balcony overlooking the main room. Hay blankets are weird, but not unpleasant.

"I have prepared some snacks for the evening," BirdPerson leaves a bowl of seed-like pellets on the nightstand.

"Wh-What uh... is it?" Rick cranes his neck to inspect the contents.

"Seeds from my garden,"

"Eh- thanks," Stan grimaces.

"You're welcome. If there is anything else you need..." he trails off and shuffles out the room awkwardly.

The knot of emotion that's been cramping his insides releases the moment they're alone. "We're here for a reason, Rick,"

"Huh?" He tugs his shirt up from the front. "W-We're finding Ford,"

Stan lies on the hay, turning away from Rick and towards the wall. "Yeah, you best not lose sight of that,"

Rick presses down on his bones, the pressure alleviating the sting of rejection. He gets out a measuring device and goes to the window, scanning for temperature and humidity. This planet is warmer than Earth, and humidity is very low. Is that why everything is brown instead of green? He'll have to ask BirdPerson what the rain is like here.

He documents his findings - in his memory, no need to write them down. He slides into bed beside Stan, the tension he missed before returns.

Rick wishes he could understand people. But he doesn't, and that's shit. But there's no way to change that except ask questions and observe the answers, so that's what he does.

"H-Hey, idiot," Rick mutters to Stan, hoping he's still awake.

Debating whether to pretend to be asleep or not, Stan mumbles out a "Yeah?"

Rick sits up again, looking down at his boyfriend. "I-I swear, I know what we're here for,"

Stan doesn't look at him. "Then why'd ya offer to get involved in this clusterfuck of a galactic war?"

"Wh-What do you-"

"I asked-" Stan repeats the questions, angrily this time.

"I-I don't know, I swear!" Rick waves his hands in front of him. "I couldn't just... not help,"

Stan finally sits up. "Yes, you can! What happened to the Rick that didn't give a fuck about anything but himself?"

"Th-That's still me, to an extent..." he shakes his head. "But if you wanna blame someone for changing me, blame yourself,"

Stan takes a deep sigh and lies back down once more. _The one time I need Rick to be selfish, he decides to be altruistic. _

"Jus' go ta bed, we'll work shit out in the morning,"

"Whatever,"

They turn back-to-back facing opposite walls. Neither of them sleeps. If only they knew, they could talk about it instead of silently brooding over the issue.

Stan sees the morning sunrise and pretends to wake up, stretching and cracking his bones from the uncomfortable night. Having a few hours to think, he decides that he didn't really tell Rick what the problem is, not in the way he knows Rick can understand. He sits at the table and idly chews on the tasteless seeds.

Rick doesn't want to wake up, doesn't want to face the problem. So he lies in bed, waiting for minutes to tick by and listening to Stan wandering around trying to find a bathroom that definitely isn't in this house. But eventually, he's forced to groan, stretch and sit a the table with Stan.

He reaches out for the bowl of seeds.

"They taste like crap," Stanley states, nothing but mind disgust in his voice.

Rick smiles slightly. Y-"Yeah, I figured," he slides the bowl away from him.

Stan places his hands over Rick's on the table, the latter's eyes shooting up to meet his. "I don't blame ya for yesterday,"

"You- You don't?" Rick raises an eyebrow.

"Nah, if you wanna help you can help," Stan breaks the eye contact. "It's just my insecurities again. I thought that if you got too close to the people, too comfortable here, you'd..."

"Stan, I'd never forget about you," Rick promises. And together, they enjoy their terrible breakfast in peace.

*

Stan has been to his fair share of concerts, and this is like nothing he's ever seen. The venue for the concert is back on Squanchy's planet, in that grimy dive bar-coffee shop they remember. There's a mosh pit of strangely coloured, strangely shapes creatures in the centre, and every so often a corpse is thrown out. Apparently, there's no regard for life here. But he focuses on the music, on Rick's playing. Like mosher music, it holds the perfect blend of hard metal and indie rhythm. It's something he can both headbang and cry to, and he thinks that's beautiful.

He lets out a cry of applause when the first song ends, making eye contact with Rick who winks at him. The next song picks up, reminding Stan of Babymetal, but with Rick as the vocalist.

"Hey! There you are," he jogs up to Rick when the concert ends, pulling him into a hug. Rick is swarmed by alien men and women, signing their autographs as they fawn over him. He doesn't seem to notice them flirting, and the way they act when simply shaking his hand, it's probably how their species fuck. Still, it's amusing to see how endearingly naïve Rick is to all this. It lets Stan know his boyfriend is a human, even if it doesn't seem like that sometimes.

After a few moments, Rick turns and jumps into Stan's arms. "D-Did you fuckin' see me?"

"Yeah! That was awesome, Rick!" he grins. "They have parties here right?"

"Hey, I'm always down for a party!" Squanchy appears beside them.

"Yyyyyesssss! Let's get some shit goin' on in here!" Rick raises a glass of something that smells vaguely like alcohol.

They, and the fans, hang back at the venue and turn it into a rioting party. Apparently, the cops here don't get involved. Rick snorts neon-bright glowing stuff, Stan only imagines the radiation working its way into his system. But it's Rick, and if Stan trusts anyone to be able to cure himself from radiation poisoning, it's him.  
Stan watches from the sidelines, getting buzzed on the sweet yet smoky flavour of alcohol in this dimension. He takes his eyes off the crowd for a second and when his focus returns, Rick is gone.

Frantically, he searched the venue, going backstage, around the crowds, picking out anyone who is somewhat human-shaped in the low light. He finds the stairs to the sound booth and heads up to the scaffolding surrounding the stage.

Rick and BirdPerson lean against the railing overlooking the stage, the former slugging an alien beer every few seconds.

Stan hides behind one of the curtains, just in earshot of their conversation.

"I-I'll do whatever I can," Rick places his hand on BirdPerson's shoulder. "I'm so sorry this is happenin', man,"

BirdPerson looks into his eyes, lost in his own doubt. "Why are you willing to lay down your life for a stranger?"

Rick sighs, looking down at the wild party. "If-If I can't lay my life down for a stranger, wh-who can I lay it down for?"

"What about your partner, Stanley?"

"E-Exactly," Rick smiles a little. "I-I'm willing to do anything to make him happy, and it's time I proved that,"

Turning to hide in the absolute darkness of the curtain, Stan sobs silently into his hands. Feeling like the worst person in the world for doubting Rick, he runs downstairs and out of the venue.

Hours later, Rick finds him at the bottom of the tree to BirdPerson's house. He stumbles over and collapses down beside him.

"L-Llllllleeeeeeee" he groans, flopping over so his spiky, fluffy head is in Stan's lap. "Yyyyou ran-ran off... I'm ssssorry,"

Stan wipes away his tears and snorts up the crying-boogers. "You don't have anything to apologise for, you idiot,"

He leans down and kisses Rick on the lips, gently.

BirdPerson stands over them. "Your partner is in no condition to be flown up, I fear he may vomit," he addresses Stan.

"Toss us down a blanket," he nods. "We'll camp under that leaf over there,"

The leaf big enough to be a four-man tent rustles in the wind. It's a nicely mild night, despite the autumn winds that blow Rick's hair all around.

"Very well," he nods. "Please be safe,"

When the blankets are tossed down, Stan carries them and Rick over to the leaf, borrowing under it. Lying down with Rick, he feels his boyfriend cuddle him, nuzzling into his chest. While he loves cuddling, and Rick is very comfortable, he knows he has to get him into the recovery position.

He turns Rick over, spooning him from behind to protect him from the elements. Adjusting Rick to keep him safe in case he throws up, Stan curls around him.

"I love ya,"

"Mmmffffhhh, l-love you,"


	11. The Galactic Federation

**Rick and Morty season 4 has returned! So has this fic. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. We get s****ome ** **plot! **

Stan doesn't realise it's morning until they're jerked awake by the gentle nudging of BirdPerson's beak. He looks up and tenses for a moment before remembering the events of the previous night. He nudges Rick awake too, seeing that he threw up at some point during the night.

"Rick, I'm glad you're awake," BirdPerson states in his emotionless voice. "I was worried,"

Stan notes that BirdPerson doesn't even say good morning to him, nor that he was worried about Stan's safety while out here. He helps them both stand on wobbly feet. "Are you able to play tonight's show?"

_No!_ Stan groans, feeling his head.

"S-Sure, I'm do-UUUUUUURRRRRRPPPP- down,"

Stan stares at his boyfriend incredulously. "Are you kidding me?! How the fuck are you not hungover?!"

"I don' know, I haven't been- been getting hangovers lately," Rick shrugs before grinning cheekily. "M-Maybe I'm evolving,"

Stan bites his lip and frowns, that can't be a good sign right? People who drink lots are supposed to get hangovers, that's like the whole point of hangovers.

"We have another show, this time in the Plykozko region," BirdPerson states.

"Eh, fine," Rick waves dismissively, cracking the ones in his back to before going to a stream to wash.

Stan gives BP a look of pure bewilderment. "You can't expect him to play two shows in a row, can ya?!"

BirdPerson frowns in response, looking between Stan and Rick, unsure of what he did wrong. Stan has to stop himself from tearing his head off, remembering he's from a completely different dimension.

"We're humans, we gotta rest up before shit like that!"

"H-Hey, um," Rick places a hand on Stan's shoulder and pulls him away, back under the leaf canopy that gave them shelter for the night. "Wh-What's wrong, man? You're killin' the- the vibe,"

"Killing the-?!" Stan shakes his head. "You really feel up to doing two shows in a row?"

"O-Of course I do!" Rick huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He grins and looks over to where BirdPerson and Squanchy are waiting. "H-Hey guys, look at this old man over here" he laughs and points at Stan.

"If that's how you feel, I ain't stoppin' ya," Stan shrugs. He'd like to be petty and not come to the show just to protest that decision, but that would be more of a Rick thing to do. So he ends up, inevitably, in the crowd at their next gig, halfway across the galaxy.

*

Rick said he was fine to play another show. He is absolutely not fine to play another show.

Several times, Rick excuses himself to the bathroom just to sit on the toilet and escape the noise. He breathes heavily, the light burning against his eyes. Growing up with his father made him an expert at hiding the truth and he is in fact very - exponentially - hungover. His body feels numb and heavy, like at any moment he's about to pass out.

There's a heavy knock on the stall door. "Rick?"

Rick takes but half a second to shake the fuzziness from his head and yank open the door, seeing Stan standing there with his hands on his hips.

"H-Hey," Rick brushes past him and pretends to was his hands. He looks away, hiding his eyes under his hair so Stan doesn't see their redness. "What-What do you want?"

"I'm sorry," Stan sighs, brushing his hair back It's getting too long at the front, he might as well just chop off his fringe.

Rick turns back to stare at him, no longer caring if his eyes give him away. "Y-You're sorry? For what?"

"I'm sorry I tried ta stop you doin' more shows.," Stan leans back against the stall. "Since I know why you're doing it,"

Rick catches himself from getting defensive._ You don't know shit! _"Y-You do?"

"Fuck, of course I do. I mean, I didn't, but then I watched you fuckin' suffer through that first set and I figured out why you'd do that to yourself," he smirks. "You always surprise me with how much you actually care about people,"

"N-Not people," Rick snorts. "I don' give a fuck about people. I care about_ you_,"

"You don't have to do this to yourself, man," _You've already done so much. _

Rick narrows his eyes for a second and his boyfriend wonders what he did wrong. But Rick's body spins around as if propelled by some other-worldly force and he pukes into the toilet. Blood and puke mixed with piss, Rick groans as he stares down at his mess. He flushes, as if to say good riddance.

Stan takes him into his arms and holds him close. "I really appreciate everything you're putting yourself through to find Sixer. Promise you'll take a break after tonight?"

Rick is about to answer when Squanchy appears at the door. Rick's face changes so much he looks like a different person, and it shocks Stan for a moment.

"Hey Rick, we need you to squanch out on set with us!"

"Eyyy, Squnchy!" Rick grins an ugly grin. "L-Let's fuck this whole place!"

Squanchy grabs his wrist and leads him out the bathroom. He turns back to smile at Stan before being whisked into the depth of the crowd.

*

After the concert, they return to BirdPerson's planet and Rick crashes out on the futon. Stan smiles and drapes a blanket of hay over him before turning in for the night as well.

The next day, Rick refuses to do anything but sit on the balcony wrapped in that same blanket and drink a brewed bowl of herbs he found outside. He looks out onto the horizon and turns to Stan, who's been staring at him this whole time.

"When- When d'you think we'll get the secret to interdimensional travel?" he asks, that achievement seeming like an unreachable dream. But they've already come so far.

"When do you think BirdPerson will give it to you?" Stan answers with a question.

"I- I don't know, he seems like an honest... bird person. Too- too honest, m-maybe,"

Stan nods in concurrence. "If he does tell us how to travel, are ya ready to leave yet?"

Rick shrugs. "Won't h-have any reason to stay,"

_You know that's not true_. Rick, in the short time they've been here, has become emotionally attached to BirdPerson and Squanchy. "We can always come bac, ya know? After this is over?"

Rick turns to look art him. "R-Really?"

Stan nods understandably. "You wanted to explore the cosmos, right? I ain't ay more ready to settle down on Earth - or, uh, wherever - either,"

Rick sips some more of the tea and smiles. "R-Rick and-and Lee, exploring th-the multiverse until the end of time?"

Stan smiles and shrugs, leaning against Rick, but more so on the back of the balcony. "Why not?"

Rick gives him a quick kiss before emerging from the blanket, leaving it to messily drape on the ground. "I-I feel better. Let's explore this world,"

"Sounds good to me," Stan follows his lead.

Rick walks around using the flora as shelter. Vast areas of land here seem completely uninhabited by anything but marshy, wet ground that makes his shoes squelch with every step. This land has so much potential, and he gathers samples to analyse wen they return. He soon figures out why it's so empty - because everything exclusively lives in the trees. Not only that, but they travel and conduct business by flying from one tree to the other. As if the ground is the sea and each birdperson has their own island in the sky.

They find something in the distance, a strange light streaming from between the leaves bigger than them. They exchange a nod and investigate.

Pushing the leaves aside, they survey the scene before them with dropped jaws.

"It's a fuckin- it's- "

A wasteland. A barren wasteland upon which sits gun grey military vehicles. Patrolling them are grasshopped-like aliens brandishing chrome black guns. Their fly-like eyes glow like orange gemstones as they survey the area. On the side of the military ship is a logo.

"The Galactic Federation," Stan whispers, remembering BirdPerson's stories.

The Galactic Federation is an intergalactic organisation that has its own version in each dimension. Its objective is to dominate every planet in the universe by force until it controls every intelligent society, dominating existence itself.

"We-We gotta get outta here," Rick and Stan turn to silently creep away when they crash into something hard. Looking up, they see those orange eyes. Then the butt of a gun in their faces.

The creature remains expressionless, as if wearing a mask. But its mouth moves as it talks, like an animatronic doll. "You aren't going anywhere,"

*

They aren't scared. Strangely, they aren't scared. It might be the appearance of the federation aliens, looking like oversized houseflies, that makes them seem nothing but comical. The couple are strapped into what looks like dentist chairs at gunpoint, and stare up at a metallic blue ceiling.

Stan continues to stare while Rick examines his surroundings to find a way out of here. Two armed guards stand by the door, the doors themselves coded.

From behind the door, there's a beeping and they slide open to reveal a thicker alien with smaller eyes, dressed in what looks like a military general's uniform. Medals adorn his chest and his antennae slide out of holes in a thick velvet military beret. If there's one thing Rick despises more than authority, it's underserved veneration of that authority.

"They were found spying on our ships, sir," says one of the default aliens.

The general nods and walks over, hovering above Stan and staring down at him. He picked Stan, Rick knows, because he doesn't look as dangerous.

"Who are you?" the general asks curiously, having never seen a creature such as them.

"We're scientists," Rick answers immediately.

"Shut up!" one of the guards jabs the gun into his side. Rick pleads silently over to Stan.

"Yeah, we... we're scientists!" Stan agrees with a nod. "We were just explorin' when we came across your weird lookin- techny-mabobs,"

Rick can't help but smirk.

"An' I can prove it!" Stan wriggles in his bonds. "Search, search our pockets, we got samples!"

The aliens do, and find Rick's samples. The general looks at them sceptically. "Where did you come from?" he asks Stan again.

Rick bites his lip anxiously. _Don't say Earth, don't say Earth! _

"Uh, Earth,"

_Fuck! _

A few moments of silence pass. The general has heard stories of Earth, a primitive planet just outside the Federation's reach of technological advancements. If these scientists have come from Earth...

"What do you know about interdimensional travel?"

"Inter-what-now?" Stan raises an eyebrow, playing dumb. Rick snickers to himself.

_I knew there was a reason I loved that man. _

"I know you have interdimensional space travel, you couldn't have gotten here any other way," the gun reappears. "So where is it?"

"You want me to tell you?" Stan smirks challengingly. "In your fuckin' dreams, ugly!"

This time, Rick bursts out laughing, making the general's attention snap to him. He seems to get an idea, narrowing his eyes and walking over to Rick. "You look like you know more than your firend over there,"

"Y-Yeah no shit, that's why you questioned him first," he smirks and glares like he's in a spy movie. "I know what you're up to,"

He doesn't take the bait. "Tell me what you know about interdimensional travel,"

This time, he really does glare. "Lick. My. Balls,"

Not knowing what that means, but knowing it isn't the secret to interdimensional travel, the general steps back. "Very well. Torture them,"

Stan starts to wriggle and panic. "Did he just say torture?!"

"Don't tell them shit!" Rick calls as his chair is dragged to the other side of the room.

*

He coughs a strange mix of blood and gunk. And he's sober, this isn't meant to be happening. He's lying on the floor of a cell after an intense interrogation session. It's hard to track time here - hours and days blend together seamlessly. He hasn't talked, he knows Stan hasn't either because Stan doesn't know anything. He made it very clear during his first session that if he thinks Stan is hurt or been killed, it's over. He'll kill himself to stop them finding out his secrets.

One thing Rick has a lot of down here is time. While he doesn't know how much there is, how much passes, he knows he has it. So he explores.

Rick opens the wall by painfully prying the nails loose from a metal board. He grips the thick wires in his hands, yanking them out and taking them apart. He finds other things within them, using the metal wires to create charge when connected to the main ship.

He does equations, too. Mostly in is head - that's the best way.

"I-I'm going to bust outta here, Stan," Rick promises through the pipes. "An' I'm taking you with me,"

Suddenly, the saving grace of a tune against the metal wall makes him bolt upright.

_Tap-Tap-BANG-Tap-Tap._ Rick scrambles to the wall and memorises the pattern. It's Morse code, Stan you genius!

_.- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / - .... . .-. . ..--.. (Are you there?)_

Rick taps back, and waits for another message.

_.-- .... .- - .----. ... / - .... . / .--. .-.. .- -. ..--.. (What's the plan?)_

_Have I thought that far ahead? _Rick wonders, and taps back.

The plan, in more words than he can tap without his hand bleeding, involves using the limited tech he can access from his cell to build a machine with enough propulsion force to break through the bars. Then, he can access one of the onboard computers and disable the alarm system, maybe even locate Stan and open his door. Finally, he asks

_.... .- ...- . / - .... . -.-- / .... ..- .-. - / -.-- --- ..- ..--.. (Have they hurt you?)_

_.- .-- .-- --..-- / -.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / -.-. .- .-. . ..--.. (Aww, do you care?) _

_... .... ..- - / - .... . / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- / ..- .--. (Shut the fuck up)_

Rick smiles and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of grey once gain. Everything will go according to plan. Everything has to go according to plan.

He rolls onto his side, on the floor that makes his bones creak, and tries to fall asleep.

*

Five more days pass, although Rick doesn't know that. His machine is ready, and he stands right against the bars. He pulls the lever, it's like shooting a gun at point black range. In an explosive cloud of smoke, it blows him back against the wall.

Rick walks out of his cell and sneaks around the ship stealing any tech he can find until he finds the nearest unattended computer. Sitting down. he hacks into the mainframe in a couple of minutes - alien tech, human tech, he can use it just fine.

Prisoner H (for human of course) is one floor below and about a hundred metres west. Rick memorises the map and sneaks out.

He sees a single alien guard patrolling the corridor and hides behind a pillar in waiting. When it walks past, Rick jumps on its back and grips it in a headlock. "What's the access code to the stairs?"

"4321!" the alien cries in panic.

"Ugh, seriously?" Rick snaps its neck and finds the door.

Rick takes a second to reflect on the fact that he just killed someone. Sure, it wasn't a _human _but it has the status of one, doesn't it? For some reason, he's pretty comfortable killing a robot slave of authoritarian imperialism.

He reaches Stan's floor and uses another computer to disable the alarm of his cell.

He kneels by the door and begins picking the lock. "Hey, hey ugly\\!" he whispers, tapping on the bars. "Wake up!"

Stan raises his groggy head for the floor of the cell, sees that it's Rick and scrambles up to the door.

"Rick!" he whisper-cries in joy, throwing his arms around his boyfriend and pulling him close. "I missed you so much, I love you,"

Rick roans. "D-Don't go gettin' all mushy," But he's holding Stan just as tightly.

Stan wrenches the door open as soon as the lock is picked, throwing himself into Ricks arms and kissing him. He grips his waist, holds his hand vowing never to let go. Never will he let them be separated again.

But the alarm blares, san urgent voice manifests over the tanoy._ "Officer down! Escaped prisoners!"_

Rick grits his teeth._ I knew I should've hid the body. _

The pounding of heavy footsteps can be heard on the floor above. Gripping Stan's arm just as tightly, they run.

"What's the plan?" Stan pants, running out of breath.

"Tell me- Tell me if you see anything that looks like a door!" Rick focuses on running and navigating them around where the fewest guards should be. He wasn't looking for a door when he had the map, and doesn't remember anything that looked like an exit.

He peeks around the corner ad finds a door to the outside - and it's open! But standing in front of it are two aliens with guns. Rick inhales with a deep sigh, turning to his boyfriend with tears of frustration in his eyes. "Lee?"

Stan looks up at him innocently.

"I-I'm going to do something that- that might change your opinion of me. I love you, okay? I- I just hope you still love me after this,"

He lets go of Stan's hand and starts to walk out.

"Wait!" his boyfriend calls desperately. _What does he mean? _But Rick is already standing before the guards

When he steps in front of the aliens, they point their guns at him, a whooshing noise as they fire up the charge. "Halt or we'll open fire!"

"N-No you won't," Rick leans back confidently. "You- Your boss needs me alive. And I'm unarmed, yo,"

They exchange a look. "Stay where you are!" One of them pulls out its radio for backup. While it's distracted, Rick charges for it and knocks the radio and gun out of its hand. He grips it in the same headlock he used to kill the other.

"Lee, get the gun!"

Stan, who's been standing there in shock since this began, scrambles into the open and grip the gun with shaking hands. He has no idea how this works. He's never even fired a normal gun!

"Let us out, or I'll kill him and blow your head off!" Rick narrows his eyes. "I'm fuckin' serious,"

The alien and Rick stare at one another in a tense standoff. It lasts only for a second until the alien steps aside.

They walk out, Stan still holding the gun barely in his hands. The moment they pass the door, Stan starts towards the forest, noticing that Rick isn't following.

"Come on!" he hisses, running back. "They'll follow us any minute! We gotta get off this planet!"

"And let them invade it? I- I don't think so," Rick grabs the gun from Stan and walks around the ship. Stan grabs his shoulder and spins him around.

"Are you insane?! This isn't what we're here for!"

"So you'd condemn BirdPerson and Squanchy to fight in our place?" Rick sneers, propping up the gun. "You can either help me of leave, but don't expect me to follow,"

Stan's resolve crumbles, hurt flashing in his eyes. But he nods silently and follows Rick, forgetting what he figured out last night. Rick will do anything for the people he cares about, even if that mesons sacrificing himself and his relationship. Admirable in abstract, but right now it's just making him shit his pants in fear.

Rick hunts for a weak point in the ship and finds a fuel valve. "Perfect,"

Stan watches from the sidelines as Rick backs up, as far as he can get against the treeline. A blue, swirling vortex appears at the barrel of the gun he seems to have already mastered. Rick is blown back against the tree as it shoots form the gun, right into the open fuel valve.

In a cloud of smoke, the blaring of sirens, the screams of dying aliens, the ship ignites in flames. The roar of the blast throws Stan back and he runs, terrified.

Running along a dirt path, he looks to his side to see Rick having appeared before him, also running. Rick grins at his boyfriend, seeing past the tension and refusing to allow any awkwardness. "Th-They won't be invading anything for a while,"

Stan shakes his head. "You're a fuckin' idiot, Sanchez," then a grin splits his face. "But that was the best thing I've ever seen,"

Rick throws his head back in a cackle and reaches into the air, trying to grab the sun itself. "Yeeeeaaaah baby!" he reaches into the air and punches it triumphantly.

*

They arrive back at BirdPerson's house, bloodied and covered in black soot. Rick's hair is thick with dirt, Stan's is too. They smell like fire.

BirdPerson appears and fawns over Rick with a sombre, concerned expression. "You have been gone a long time,"

"W-We uh..." Rick grits his teeth and closes his eyes. "We got into some trouble,"

BirdPerson doesn't react, a silent pressure for Rick to continue.

"Y-You don't have to worry about... about the Galactic Federation anymore,"

BirdPerson's eyes widen slightly, but he composes himself immediately. He starts towards another room. "I will show you how to travel interdimensionally,"

Rick nods. BirdPerson leaves them alone.

"Why do you still have the gun?" Stan asks.

Rick smiles and moves it between his hands, feeling the heavy obsidian weighing him down. "I-I have an idea, I wanna test some things out,"

BirdPerson returns and hands Rick a thick stack of paper schematics even he doesn't understand. "Take all the time you need,"

Rick nods. "Th-Thanks,"

Opening the door BirdPerson came out of, he sees that the room functions as a workshop. Engineering is fused with woodwork, psychics with the natural worlds it was born from. He smiles and begins testing his theory.

*

The wait is agonising for two beings who don't particularly know one another. Stan wishes he could talk to BirdPerson, but knows if he does., it'll open an entire can of 'what the fuck is your problem with me?' that he doesn't want to delve into for Rick's sake.

Surprisingly, BirdPerson asks that exact question of him. "Do you dislike my relationship with Rick?"

He bites his lip at the word he said. relationship, but he's an alien. 'Relationship' just means knowing someone in any kind of way.

"I don't, you're friends, right?" is sounds more suspicious than Stan wanted to.

BirdPerson nods.

"I thought you were the ne who didn't like me," Stan shrugs, feeling foolish. Have they both had the same insecurities?

"I simply want what is best for Rick," BirdPerson clarifies.

"Hm, we want the same thing huh," Stan smiles. It doesn't feel so awkward anymore. "Sorry I thought... well I don't know what I thought,"

BirdPeson merely looks confused.

"Let's work together - for Rick," Stan's smile widens and he reaches a hand out to shake on the deal. BirdPerson gingerly takes it and without warning, starts to throw up into it.

"Gah!" Stan pulls his hand away. "The fuck?"

BP shrugs, the faintest hint of a smile lingering for a moment. "Is that not a human custom? I thought you wanted a snack,"

Stan rolls his eyes. "Watch it, or I might have to fight you anyway,"

"I am much larger than you," BirdPerson retorts, merely stating a fact than being combative.

Stan chuckles and they go on discussing Rick, bonding over common ground.


End file.
